


Impartial Judge

by bigmamag



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bigotry & Prejudice, Crossover, F/M, First Time, Interspecies, M/M, Triwizard Tournament, Veela
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-15
Updated: 2015-04-26
Packaged: 2018-02-13 05:06:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 46,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2138085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bigmamag/pseuds/bigmamag
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>LOTR/HP crossover. The Triwizard Tournament brings Europe’s three largest wizarding schools together for the competition of a lifetime. Gimli had only planned to tag along as Krum’s entourage, but is unexpectedly chosen as Durmstrang’s champion. When the son of Thranduil is chosen as Beauxbatons’ champion, Gimli seeks a way to bring him down a peg or two, but unexpectedly finds something completely different.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Problem with Ancient Cutlery

**Author's Note:**

> This thing is entirely [notanightlight](http://notanightlight.tumblr.com/)’s fault, though it was me who decided to take a simple tumblr [text post](http://bigmamag.tumblr.com/post/90627468800/notanightlight-bigmamag-notanightlight) and run with it. Also to blame is [jadedhavok](http://jadedhavok.tumblr.com/) who got me into this pairing in the first place and who also beta'd for me. This story goes by Harry Potter book canon, thus why there are both boys and girls at Beauxbatons and Durmstrang (that always irked me in the movie.)

“The grounds are small,” Gimli observed as they crossed the short distance from the lake to the doors of the castle.

“There’s a nice big forest off that way,” Kíli pointed out. “Plus the castle _is_ bigger than ours.”

Gimli looked up at Hogwart’s edifice. That it certainly was.

“I am thinking ve overdressed for the veather,” Viktor said, coughing deeply into a gloved hand.

“Viktor! Keep to the front,” Karkaroff barked. Viktor obeyed, his head lowering into a fierce scowl. He stood beside Karkaroff, who was easy to spot in the night with his great silver fur coat.

“Quick, before we get our commoner germs on him,” Kíli muttered darkly, waggling his fingers at the back of the Headmaster’s head.

“Well, it was you who thought it a great idea to go ice fishing the night before we left,” Gimli pointed out.

“Hey, Viktor practically pulled my arm to take him with us.”

“Aye, and you had one arm left to snatch a bottle of contraband fire whiskey,” Gimli returned.

“It was my _civic duty_ to calm the nerves of our champion before we shoved off,” Kíli sniffed with the air of the unjustly maligned.

“You didn’t have to dare him to streak either,” Fíli added, smirking at his brother.

“You’re the one who ran off with his clothes!”

“The both of you are hopeless,” Gimli chided, though his glittering eyes probably gave him away. He had, after all, caught a sizable trout that night, so he could hardly complain. “I wouldn’t start envying Krum—he’s got to spend the next few months with Karkaroff breathing down his neck.”

“Still,” Ingrid piped up from behind them, lowering her hood so her great locks of tightly curled hair framed her dark face. “Eternal glory and a thousand galleons are not bad deal.”

“He’s already a Quidditch star! How much fame and fortune does he need?” Lukas whined, slumped down into his coat so far that he appeared almost as tall as Kíli. “‘Sides, maybe the Goblet will pick someone else.”

“Please,” Ingrid scoffed. “Haffen’t you read the history on the Goblet of Fire? It always chooses champions that look good in newspaper spreads.”

Gimli had to agree with her. He’d looked up a list of past champions himself shortly before leaving and it was like perusing a who’s who of the wizarding elite. Viktor hadn’t been keen on going in the first place, so Karkaroff had bribed him by letting him personally fill the remaining eight spots with his friends, all of whom were hardly the stuff of legend. Gimli had agreed to come readily enough, as he’d get to travel and spend his last year of school outside classrooms.

Their conversation was cut off as they stopped at the foot of the front steps. Karkaroff was speaking with Dumbledore, an insincere smile fixed in place. Gimli felt Kíli fidgeting next to him. He couldn’t blame him—the feel of the heartily warm entryway was almost irresistible.

Finally, they were led to a great feasting hall. Karkaroff had gone somewhere with Dumbledore, so that left the nine of them standing at the doors, unsure of where they were to sit. Several of the Hogwarts students were beckoning Viktor to their table, and a few more were murmuring and pointing at Gimli or even Fíli. Gimli refused to touch his beard or look bothered by the open stares.

“Let us sit near the Beauxbatons group,” Ingrid said decisively, easily inserting herself to the front of their group and leading the way. “Symmetry!”

“Seems a good a place as any,” Fíli agreed.

Ingrid led them to the table filled with students wearing green and silver ties. They busied themselves with sitting down, shaking off great fur coats that were suddenly stifling.

“Check out the ceiling!” Clara nearly squeaked, pointing upwards. Gimli took in the vast expanse of the night sky in awe.

As they sat, a young blonde boy sandwiched between two hulking gargoyles bent forward to earnestly talk to Viktor. Gimli listened faintly to some nonsense about the boy’s father and the Quidditch World Cup.

“Do you think these plates are gold-plated or solid all the way through?” Lukas asked, spinning a plate around on his hand.

Gimli picked up a golden fork and bit the end of it. The metal did not give at all.

“Plated.”

“How did you figure that out just by chewing on it?” Clara demanded, flipping her blonde hair behind her shoulder imperiously.

“Gold will give if you bite down with a certain amount of pressure. We Durins have particularly strong teeth,” Gimli explained, setting the fork down.

The sound of a door opening near the staff table got their attention. Karkaroff made his way to Dumbledore’s side. Behind him came the largest woman Gimli had ever seen. She stood what had to be ten feet tall and was dressed in black satin and fine opals. The Beauxbatons students immediately leapt to their feet when their headmistress appeared, earning themselves scattered laughter. They seemed unembarrassed, however, and appeared to be waiting until Madame Maxime was seated.

A shock of long, golden hair caught Gimli’s eye from the group of Beauxbatons students. The hair belonged to a boy with equally golden good looks. He stood out starkly from the group of pale blue uniformed students at attention. As Madame Maxime seated herself, they sat too, and Gimli tried to work out why the boy seemed instantly familiar to him, but his thoughts were interrupted by Dumbledore’s speech.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, ghosts and—most particularly—guests. I have great pleasure in welcoming you all to Hogwarts. I hope and trust that your stay here will be both comfortable and enjoyable. The tournament will be officially opened at the end of the feast. I now invite you all to eat, drink, and make yourselves at home!”

The table in front of them was suddenly laden with a bountiful feast. They tucked in swiftly, filling their plates and goblets with gusto. As he partook in the glorious food before him, Gimli found himself looking at the Beauxbatons lot again. Something about that blonde boy set Gimli’s teeth on edge, like he had once accidentally knocked Gimli to the ground somewhere and never apologized for it.

He must have sensed Gimli’s stare, because his coolly indifferent gaze snapped to Gimli’s with a birdlike curiosity. His slender eyebrows were furrowed like he was trying to figure out some puzzle. His eyes slid to either side of Gimli where Fíli and Kíli were seated, and recognition seemed to hit him a second before it hit Gimli. He had seen this boy’s picture in a newspaper, but even without that confirmation Gimli would recognize that arrogant smirk anywhere.

“Fíli! Kíli!” Gimli whispered harshly. “Third Beauxbatons boy to the left is the son of Thranduil!”

“ _No_ ,” Kíli breathed, gawking. Fíli had a more natural reaction, leveling a stern glare at the bloke.

Thranduil’s get looked away as if he was already bored with this situation. That didn’t stop Gimli from keeping a weather eye on him.

“I can’t believe we’re in the same room as the spawn of Satan,” Fíli sighed. “What rotten luck.”

“He keeps angelic company,” Kíli said appreciatively.

“What, the blonde girl next to him?” Fíli asked, some of his anger fading away to amusement. It was quite common for Kíli to find some young lass to fawn over any time they were somewhere new.

“No, the ginger one,” Kíli said absently, like his whole world had narrowed down to him and the girl. Gimli spared a glance at her. She was fair all right, but most people’s attention seemed to be on Thranduil’s son. A first-year girl was near-swooning next to him and a few more seemed just as fascinated, even the boys.

“I see he’s got his dad’s looks,” Fíli muttered, arching an eyebrow.

“You guys talking about Mr. Right over there?” Clara asked from further down the table. “I’ve got dibs on him. He’s got to be a Veela or something.”

“No such thing as full-blooded male Veela,” Ingrid corrected, though Gimli noticed that she too was staring.

“Quarter Veela, possibly,” Gimli grumbled, recalling that Thranduil was half.

He didn’t quite understand the fascination, Veela blood or no. Objectively, the flawless skin, long golden hair, swan-like neck, and crystalline eyes were attractive, but it was like someone had been given a blueprint for the perfect being and chiseled it out of cold marble. He seemed to also have all the personality of a slab of stone, enduring the dinner conversation as if he was a king among peasants.

Gimli added, “I wouldn’t get too close to that one. His dad’s a nasty piece of work, and I’m willing to bet that the apple doesn’t rot too far from the tree.”

“You mean fall?” Ingrid asked.

“Rotten is a better way of describing that family tree,” Gimli said darkly.

“Want to fill us in on this family feud?” Lukas asked.

“You know, it’s a long story,” Fíli said equably. “Let’s just say that his dad is responsible for a lot of grief to our family and we want nothing to do with the bastard.”

The others sensed Fíli’s unwillingness to gossip on this and moved on to admiring the ghosts floating about. Kíli rested a solid hand on Gimli’s back and whispered, “Don’t let it get to you. It’s not like you’ll have to see him much while we’re here.”

“Excuse me,” a voice interrupted from above them. They looked up to see the red-headed Beauxbatons girl of Kíli’s recent dreams. “Are you finished with the ratatouille?”

“Which one is it?” Fíli asked gamely, surveying the more untouched dishes on their table.

“It’s this one,” Kíli said, fumbling for the dish. He held it in both hands like he was offering her a rare treasure. “It’s really good.”

She raised her eyebrows at him, clearly seeing that the dish was unspoiled and untried, and left gracefully, taking Kíli’s heart with her.

“They don’t make them like that at Durmstrang,” Kíli sighed, leaning on the table while cupping his head dreamily.

“You are right—they make them better,” Ingrid declared, throwing a roll at Kíli’s head, which bounced off without Kíli’s notice.

“You’ve got your elbow in a treacle tart,” Fíli noted. Kíli kept it right where it was, unconcerned. “Also your lady is giving the ratatouille to arsehole junior.”

The vile temptress was indeed pushing the dish over to the wanker, who thanked her and began speaking as if everything in the room was an irritation to him.

Aside from that spectacle, dinner passed unremarkably and ended with the introductions of Ludo Bagman and Barty Crouch. Gimli did appreciate the unveiling of the Goblet’s jeweled casket, which was given to Dumbledore by an unpleasant curmudgeon with a cat trailing him. Hogwarts was a strange place.

“The champions will be chosen by an impartial selector: The Goblet of Fire.” Dumbledore tapped three times on the casket and brought out a wooden cup that would have been unremarkable if it wasn’t full of dancing blue-white flames.

Dumbledore went on about an Age Line and taking the contest seriously, which Gimli had already heard back at Durmstrang, so he took another look at the Beauxbatons table. Thranduil’s son was already looking at Gimli. Gimli glared back in interest and would probably have started a staring contest had the feast not ended then and everyone began to leave the hall.

“Back to the ship, then,” Karkaroff said, bustling to their table. “Viktor, how are you feeling? Did you eat enough? Should I send for some mulled wine from the kitchens?”

Viktor shook his head and pulled his coat back on.

“Professor, _I_ vood like some vine,” Serge said hopefully.

“I wasn’t offering it to _you,_ Poliakoff,” snapped Karkaroff. “I notice you have dribbled food all down the front of your robes again, disgusting boy—”

Karkaroff turned summarily and walked out. Poliakoff was moodily examining his robes and Johanna broke out of her brooding ways to tell him where he had dropped some brown gravy on his blood-red robes.

At the front of the hall, Karkaroff was transfixed by a boy who stood as tall as Gimli and had a wild mop of black hair and spectacles. Ingrid, quick on the uptake, recognized him.

“It is Harry Potter! Vere was he hiding before?”

Poliakoff nudged Clara and pointed at Potter’s scar. Then a strange-looking old man with a magical glass eye trudged up and made Karkaroff’s face drain of color, which was probably the best thing Gimli had seen all day. He would have savored the moment, but the Beauxbatons lot were leaving as well and Gimli didn’t know if he could keep himself from starting a fight in this fine hall.

***

That night, Gimli sent an owl to his father, giving him the news of Thranduil’s son being within striking distance of Gimli. He sighed when Galadriel flew out of the ship’s porthole. He was starting to regret telling his father, as he didn’t want him to start reliving old memories. Gimli was doing that for the both of them.

He fetched an old tapestry from his trunk and returned to his desk, unfolding the cloth neatly across the surface. Woven into the fine fabric were the names of the Durin family lineage, going back as far as Gimli’s great-great grandfather. His hand hovered over his grandfather, Groin Durin. Gimli had never even met him.

A knock sounded on his door.

“Come in,” he called. Fíli opened the door and Kíli inevitably piled in after him.

“I just knew you were in here brooding,” Fíli said, shaking his head at the unfolded tapestry.

“Do you blame me?” Gimli tersely asked.

“A little,” Kíli said, bouncing on Gimli’s bed. “We get enough brooding from Uncle Thorin. Don’t you go joining him.”

“If only I could, lad,” Gimli said, filled with melancholy. Fíli sighed heavily and fetched a kettle.

“I’ll make you some tea, before you start on a vicious rant.”

“I should be going with him to Erebor!” Gimli yelled, smacking the desk with his hand.

“Too late,” Kíli quipped, falling backward on the bed dramatically.

“Gloin is just looking out for you,” Fíli said soothingly as he flicked his wand and conjured a small set of bluebell flames under the kettle. “The only reason _we’re_ going is because Uncle Thorin is our legal guardian. Nepotism is lost on Uncle, I’m afraid.”

“Nepotism and proper courting rituals,” Fíli said slyly. “Did you hear he’s taking Bilbo the baker? You remember Gimli, the wee man with the curly hair?” enthused Kíli, arms reaching up to flap about excitedly from the bed. “Likes to cook without shoes? You know, I wonder if he ever drops anything on those toesies.”

“A baker, going off to fight a horde of bloodthirsty dragons,” Gimli muttered bitterly. “I ask you, what is the justice in sending him rather than me?”

“To be fair, I don’t think he’s going for the fighting, just to cook meals and settle legal disputes,” Kíli assured. “Also, I think Uncle Thorin’s after his sweet, sticky buns, if you know what I mean.”

“Good thing I’ve gone temporarily deaf just now,” Fíli said fervently as the kettle began to steam right nice.

“Oh don’t act like you’re not in the betting pool for when they’re going to stop bickering and start with the snogging. I hear Nori has raised the stakes to include a bonus if they do the naked embrace before Christmas.”

“I live in a world where Uncle Thorin doesn’t have sex,” Fíli insisted. “ _That_ world is where inner peace can be found. Gimli, please shut him up. I beg you, cousin.”

“You are both straying from the point. Here I am, legally an adult, and yet I’m considered too young to kill dragons,” Gimli scoffed. “As if age means anything when it’s one’s home you’re talking about.”

“To be fair, none of us here have even seen Erebor,” Kíli said soberly, sitting up in the bed. “I’m more for taking revenge on Thranduil’s hide than dragonhide. Killing a bunch of dragons isn’t going to bring back your granddad or our parents.”

Gimli deflated. “But do you see how much this means to our family, to our colony? Everyone lost someone back then, and all I get to do is look at that traitor’s bastard son each day, fed so long by a silver spoon that his hair sapped its gleam.”

Fíli and Kíli went silent, knowing when Gimli was not just ranting but was fixed in his opinion. Gimli grimly folded up the family tapestry and put it away again in the continued silence. A mirror was fixed just above the trunk, a little too high for him to see himself properly. Gimli tilted his head up to inspect his thick, red beard and saw that the two small braids he had put in this morning were coming undone. If only the length of a beard determined age instead of years lived.

“Don’t you even think of cutting it off again,” Kíli warned, sensing Gimli’s mood. “You finally got it to braiding length again.”

“I won’t laddie,” Gimli said, accepting a prepared cuppa from Fíli. “My chin is weaker than I’d like to admit.”

“Well,” Fíli said decisively, toasting Gimli and Kíli’s cup with his own. “To majestic beards and not having to shiver our way through winter at Durmstrang Institute, at any rate.”

***

They placed their names in the Goblet the next morning in front of a crowd of curious Hogwarts students, Viktor at the lead.

“Wonder why we’re putting our names in anyway,” Lukas groused as the Goblet sent sparks after his slip of paper.

“Propriety mostly,” Clara sniffed, daintily flicking in her own.

After breakfast there was an interesting tour of the castle proper, which is when they were warned that the forest was off limits. Durmstrang Institute had miles and miles of grounds to make up for its rather small castle, and Gimli had to admit that he didn’t like the idea of staying indoors the rest of the year, least of all on the ship. It took only one night’s sleep to discover that he absolutely loathed life at sea. He’d had to take a sleeping draught to induce sleep, and upon waking he’d feared the infernal boat was going to fall apart from the relentless rocking.

They were allowed free reign for the afternoon, so Gimli decided to explore the shores of the lake, dipping his feet in and lounging in the grass. He didn’t see the legendary giant squid, but he was sure he’d see it from their ship soon enough. He also discovered that the Beauxbatons’ lot was staying in a gigantic blue carriage next to a small hut that sat at the edge of the forest. He wistfully noticed a set of crates that held what looked like some kind of scorpion crabs, but he was keen to stay as far away from certain foreigners as he possibly could, so he stayed right where he was and skipped stones.

Shortly before the Halloween feast was to begin, he was approached by a rather excitable young girl with bushy brown hair who went on a passionate plea for the liberation of house-elves and tried to get him to buy a badge which spelled out S.P.E.W. Gimli declined, as he explained patiently that house-elves would be offended if you offered to free them, but didn’t mind the idea of freeing one if they asked for it. She huffed in annoyance, but thanked him anyway before heading to the castle.

Hogwarts seemed to go all-out for Halloween, enchanting bats to fly around and hanging glowing pumpkins from their ceiling. The feast was much more subdued and fraught with tension as everyone anxiously waited for the champion choosing to begin. Finally, the tables cleared and Dumbledore announced that the Goblet was almost ready to make its decision. He extinguished all the candles with a wave of his wand, the only light coming from the blue flames of the Goblet.

“It better hurry and start coughing up names,” Kíli whispered. “I ate too much and I am _not_ belching in front of Tauriel _._ Damn Hogwarts and back-to-back feasts! _”_

“That her name?” Gimli asked.

“Yeah,” Kíli said, heartfelt. “Took me three tries to get it. I think she finds me endearing.”

“Is that what they’re calling ‘annoying’ these days?” Fíli asked in amusement.

Clara shushed them all loudly. The Goblet had started admitting red sparks. In the next moment a tongue of flame hit the air and Dumbledore snatched a piece of charred parchment from the air as everyone gasped dramatically.

“The champion from Durmstrang,” he read in a strong, clear voice, “will be Gimli Durin.”

Surely he must have heard wrong. He was certainly not alone in his doubts. Everyone in the hall was staring at Gimli in a range of astonishment, though they clapped loudly in the spirit of things. Karkaroff looked furious, like he thought Dumbledore had read the name wrong on purpose. Gimli was actually with him on this.

“Well, go on!” Kíli said excitedly, perhaps the only one in the room who truly was. Gimli rose from his seat, thankfully not shaking, and lumbered up the hall. As he passed Dumbledore, he winced at their great height difference and knew everyone was sizing them up as well. It was thankfully a short distance to the next chamber and he was soon away from the press of eyes upon him.

The room was empty. There were many paintings on the walls and a large, roaring fire. Gimli hunched in front of it, still in a state of shock. _Triwizard champion_. What on earth had possessed that cup to choose him over _Viktor Krum_? Gimli had never even considered the possibility of being chosen. Now that it had happened, he found that he wasn’t scared or upset, just bewildered. There was nothing particularly special about himself, save for the deeds of some of his family. Perhaps it had mistaken him for Thorin or his father.

His whirling thoughts were cut off when the chamber door opened and the last person Gimli would want to see at that moment entered the room. His new theory was that the Goblet was pulling names ironically. Tall, golden, and pompous didn’t appear surprised at being selected as Beauxbatons’ champion.

Gimli was dead set on ignoring the bane of his existence, but the idiot had no sense of self-preservation, walking gracefully across the small room and standing in front of the fireplace as well. It would look too much like fleeing if Gimli moved away, so he stood his ground and glared into the middle distance. Unfortunately, he could feel the tosser staring at the side of his face. When Gimli glanced over to check, he saw that he was not so much staring as he was studying Gimli like he would an impossible mathematic equation and he wasn’t pleased with his own progress solving it.

“You are a Durin,” Thranduil’s son observed with a voice devoid of character or warmth. Gimli would have thrown him into the fire if his entire world hadn’t been shaken to its core quite recently.

“Aye,” Gimli challenged, “and you are a Greenleaf who possesses ears that can hear.”

The boy’s eyes narrowed. “I am surprised to see you in the champion’s chamber. I was told the Goblet of Fire hasn’t been used in a century. Perhaps its wisdom is slipping.”

“Well, then,” Gimli said, infusing his voice with as much condescension as he could summon in that moment, “that explains your presence then.”

The boy looked more surprised than insulted which in turn insulted Gimli, because did he think Gimli incapable of quick wit? Gimli assumed a combative stance, but the sound of the chamber opening once more stayed him.

“Hello,” a hesitant voice greeted. Gimli didn’t recognize the boy, but he seemed harmless enough. “I’m Cedric Diggory.”

“Gimli,” he greeted, shaking his hand.

“And I heard your name out there, Legolas Greenleaf,” Cedric said, and there was the name of Thranduil’s hellspawn. Legolas was as cold and unyielding as snow in winter as he inclined his head toward Cedric and grasped his hand, but Gimli had seen the beginnings of an avalanche in him and would not be fooled.

An awkward silence followed, all three of the strangers not knowing what to say to the other. Gimli wished he were with his kin, as they would all start boasting about who was going to win. This stiff formality was going to grate on his nerves in the long run.

The door opened again, and in walked Harry Potter. Everyone turned to him, and Gimli started to wonder if the boy was used as the Hogwarts official messenger. The boy looked shaken.

“Are we wanted in the hall?” Legolas asked.

“All right, laddie?” Gimli asked instead, because of course the idiot thought his magnificent presence was needed at once. Harry didn’t say anything, just looked at them all like he had no idea why he was there any more than they did.

Ludo Bagman clattered into the room, taking Harry’s arm and leading him in like a show pony.

“Extraordinary!” he muttered, squeezing Harry’s arm. “Absolutely extraordinary! Gentlemen, may I introduce—incredible though it may seem—the _fourth_ Hogwarts champion?”

Gimli kicked his previous theory out and decided that the Goblet was off its tits. “Isn’t he a little young?”

“Well…it is amazing,” Bagman said, smiling down at Harry like he was a proud father, “But, as you know, the age restriction was only imposed this year as an extra safety measure. And as his name’s come out of the Goblet…I mean, I don’t think there can be any ducking out at this stage…it’s down in the rules, you’re obliged…Harry will just have to do the best he—”

The door opened a final time and a large group poured in: Dumbledore, Karkaroff, Maxime, Crouch, Bagman, and two Hogwarts teachers he’d never met.

Everyone but the four champions began arguing wildly about the rules and whether Harry cheated or not. Gimli blocked them out, focusing on Harry. The boy looked utterly lost and overwhelmed—either he was a very talented actor or something was amiss. He did start to listen again when Crouch insisted that Harry had to compete and Karkaroff demanded that each school be allowed another champion. Gimli glared at him, knowing that Karkaroff just wanted Krum to be in the running so he could be proud of at least one of his champions.

That strange professor with the glass eye, Moody, entered the room and raised the possibility of someone trying to kill Harry, which set off another round of arguing, and someone finally said, “Let him compete.”

As everyone went silent and turned in his direction, Gimli realized that he was the one who’d said it. Gimli bunched up his shoulders, standing by what he said.

“He has as much chance of dying as any of us.”

“And if someone is trying to kill him as they say?” Legolas inquired condescendingly.

“They hardly need the excuse of a tournament to do it. It’s impractical and I can’t imagine who would go through such a convoluted plan.”

“You don’t quite understand the minds of Dark wizards, do you Mr. Durin?” Moody growled, as if Gimli had personally offended him. “In the case of someone like Potter, it’s not _how_ he is killed, but in _what manner_.”

Gimli had had enough of this foreboding nonsense. “If you can think of a way to get him out of an ancient magical binding contract, then do it. Otherwise it makes no difference to me if I have to go up against two or three competitors. A win by Durmstrang or Beauxbatons will be more impressive this year and a win by Hogwarts will be questioned, so may the best school win.”

Dumbledore was giving him a serenely amused look. Harry looked a bit paler, but more resolved in the matter. Madame Maxime was affronted while Karkaroff stood furious. Legolas, however, was looking at Gimli in a new manner. For the first time, his face was alive and interested, like the promise of a challenge had woken something within.


	2. Let's Hunt Some Arachnid

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since I have terrible self-control, I waited exactly two days to post again. Thank you all for the kind words and kudos thus far, though I do hope you know that you're all enabling my madness.

Gimli had to endure Karkaroff’s fuming tirade as soon as they all returned to their ship. Everyone else had wisely dispersed upon walking up the plank, so Gimli barely listened as Karkaroff cursed all four Hogwarts founders and bemoaned the fact that Durmstrang’s chances were doomed this year. Gimli was in a stormy mood when he was finally allowed to go back to his cabin.

He was greeted by all his classmates clapping and cheering.

“What’s all this?” Gimli asked, bewildered but pleased all the same.

“No one’s managed to piss off Karkaroff that badly since the Great Knickers Raid of ’89!” Lukas said, impressed.

“My idea,” Kíli said, giving everyone in the room a cheeky wink.

“No one is surprised,” said Clara.

“You’re celebrating too, Krum?” Gimli asked.

“It is a relief, actually,” Viktor said, smiling for once. “Now I have time to focus on Quidditch. I vouldn’t vant anyone else as my champion.”

Touched, Gimli clapped him on the shoulder and shook him a little.

“Are you nervous?” Polikoff asked anxiously.

“To tell you the truth, I haven’t had much time to really think about it. It needs doing, and that daft cup chose me to do it. Anyone bring any drinks to this merry gathering, or are you invading my rooms without proper compensation?”

“But of course,” Ingrid said, uncovering a case of butterbeer and passing them around. A game of exploding snap was started and Gimli took the opportunity to sit between Fíli and Kíli on his bed.

“You really mean that? You’re not the least bit intimidated by a contest that was ended because it killed people?” Kíli asked.

“When have you ever known me to have a healthy fear of anything? It wouldn’t be interesting if there wasn’t a bit of danger thrown in.”

Fíli leaned close to Gimli to speak in hushed tones. “It chose you for a reason, cousin. Imagine if you won. I mean, the prize money alone…”

“…you can get into a great apprenticeship and buy your own equipment with that kind of money…” Kíli continued.

“…and I bet your dad might reconsider you for the quest if you came home a Triwizard Champion,” Fíli finished, eyes shining.

Gimli had not considered all this, but for the first time in this topsy-turvy evening, he began to feel grateful that he was chosen. The one word that described Gimli’s life was _underestimated_. Sure, Kíli and Fíli knew his worth, and after years together at school, his friends had learned as well, but it hadn’t been easy growing up with an embittered family or a half-breed stigma. Gimli had never been the cleverest nor the most talented, but he was as stubborn as any of his family and as unwavering in his loyalty, once he decided to give it.

Of course, there was also the idea that Legolas, son of _Thranduil_ , would win. Gimli was willing to bet that Legolas possessed not an ounce of humility or fairness within him. This championship was a gift, and Gimli never squandered the kindness of fate. Cedric or Harry winning the tournament would be acceptable, but he would be dead before he saw victory in the hands of a Greenleaf.

***

A week flew by in haze. Durmstrang students were expected to continue their studies while abroad in preparation for the advanced placement exams. When morning classes were finished, Gimli vaulted over the gang plank and went about finding a distraction from the unrelenting boredom. Fíli and Kíli had found kindred spirits in a pair of red-headed twins who were apparently budding entrepreneurs. Some of their test products made their way onto the ship, and Gimli learned not to try them after his head swelled up and turned pink for nearly an hour.

Kíli, when not endangering the sanity of the masses, had taken to hanging about the general area of the Beauxbatons carriage in a shameful display of pining. Gimli came across this pitiful state after he’d dropped Viktor off at the library, of all things. Kíli was sitting in on a lesson taught by a man who stood as tall as two Gimlis stacked, laughing uproariously as a screeching girl with a pug nose was dragged across the lawn.

Gimli hadn’t wanted to go near the Beauxbatons carriage, but he _was_ curious about the beasties they were wrangling.

“Gimli!” Kíli called, waving him over. “I was just telling Professor Hagrid and Harry here how good you are at this subject.”

“Indeed?” Gimli answered gamely. Harry was standing along a fence next to Hagrid, appearing at once horrified at the scorpion-like creatures and vengefully happy to see some members of his class being dragged about.

“Yeah! Did you know Gimli is going to be a dragon slayer?”

“Dragon slayer!” Hagrid exclaimed, hand to his heart like Gimli had torn it right out and held it beating in front of him. “Dragons are the mos’ beautiful and majestic creatures that ‘ave ever existed!”

Gimli could spot an insurmountable difference of opinion a mile away, so he did a bit of damage control.

“Kíli means dragon _tamer_. My only beef with the species are with the horde that currently resides in our ancestral home land.”

Hagrid still looked suspicious of Gimli’s potential dragon-killing plans, but he subsided into a friendlier demeanor.

“Dragon tamer?” Harry asked, looking at Gimli with a newfound awe. “My friend Ron…I mean, well, er, Ron’s brother is a dragon tamer.”

Gimli was sure there was an interesting story behind Harry’s apparent slip, but judging from his tight expression, he didn’t want to talk about it.

“His name is Charlie Weasley,” Harry went on, “Do you know him?”

“I have heard of his name, but have not had the pleasure of meeting him,” Gimli said kindly.

“I met him once,” rang the voice of the damned. Legolas was standing on the golden steps of the Beauxbatons carriage, dressed in casual green clothing. “My father helped train him.”

Gimli’s opinion of Charlie dropped alarmingly, but he refrained from mentioning it around wee Harry.

“Come ‘ere for a bit!” Hagrid called out to Legolas. Gimli began to hate Hagrid, just a little bit. Legolas came over, easily hopping the fence. One of the students engaged in the lesson cried out as one of the skrewts shot forward five feet and blasted fire out its end. “Yeh’re the son of Thranduil Greenleaf, I imagine?”

“I am,” Legolas confirmed impassively.

“Are you going to be a dragon tamer, too?” Harry asked.

“No,” Legolas answered. “I’m afraid I do not have the temperament for that kind of work.”

“Yes, I’d imagine wrangling dragons are beneath a proper gentleman such as yourself,” Gimli said, an underlying note of _I hate you and I hope you drown kicking and screaming in the lake shortly_ coloring his speech.

Legolas squared his shoulders. “You speak well, for a Durin. My father told me of you and yours. Surprised am I to learn that your knuckles do not drag the ground, though they near skim the earth.”

Kíli was instantly a foot from Legolas, squaring his shoulders. Gimli reached out and held him back, mindful of the younger students and them technically being in front of a teacher.

“Let him say what he will, cousin,” Gimli said diplomatically. “It’s often the way of those who have little talent or bravery to mock those who do, for fear that others will strike first.”

Kíli subsided, still glaring up at Legolas, who wasn’t paying any attention to it. Instead his attention was wholly focused on Gimli and might have stayed that way indefinitely had Tauriel not shown up and dispersed the tension.

“Causing trouble, are you?” she cooed at Legolas, surveying the situation. Kíli melted in an instant, moving closer to her like a flower toward the sun.

“No trouble here, unless you happen to like a troublemaker,” Kíli said lowly.

“I just might like a bad boy,” Tauriel all but purred, Kíli nearly floating off the ground until she followed with, “if you see any, let me know.”

She walked away, holding eye contact with Kíli until at last she turned, Legolas trailing sullenly behind her.

“I would fight all the dragons in Erebor for her,” Kíli sighed devoutly. “Actually, I think I’d like her to fight them for _me_ even more”

Gimli snorted, leaving Kíli in a besotted stupor. Gimli set off for the ship and passed behind some foliage that was near to where Legolas and Tauriel had stopped to speak in raised voices.

“I do not like the way he looks at you,” Legolas was saying. Gimli wondered if Legolas had a claim on her affections or if he merely assumed one. Either one was distasteful.

“What is the harm in looking? He’s quite tall for a Durin, don’t you think?” she said breezily, looking back toward Hagrid’s hut. Gimli matched her gaze to see Kíli wrapping a young girl’s hand in a bandage, saying something that made the lass smile and likely forget all about her wound. Tauriel glanced once at Legolas then walked ahead.

“Taller, but no less ugly,” Legolas sneered, going after her. Gimli had to fight not to leap out of the bushes and strangle him. It was a near thing.

***

The first true test of the tournament came that Friday during the wand weighing ceremony. Gimli was instructed to go to a small classroom that had been set up for photographs. Five chairs stood behind some velvet covered desks and every piece of furniture was pushed against the walls. Only three people were in the room so far—Ludo Bagman, a reporter, and her photographer. Gimli was cursorily introduced to Ms. Skeeter by Bagman and left to his own devices.

He hoped that Cedric and Harry would arrive first and alleviate his boredom, but no such luck. Legolas swanned in, greeting the new faces with a dazzling smile and once again failing to stick to the opposite side of the room. His smile turned less warm as he took up residence in the space next to Gimli. When he didn’t speak for a couple of minutes, Gimli hoped that he would stay silent so they could get through this without incident.

“First task is in two weeks,” Legolas casually observed. “Nervous?”

Well, that tossed it.

“Trembling in my boots,” Gimli deadpanned, resolutely staring at a wall. He wondered if he would hate walls too by the end of this tournament.

“While we are speaking, I must tell you that your cousin is making a spectacle of himself in front of Tauriel.”

“Looks to me like she enjoys the show. It’s kind of sweet,” Gimli vengefully added.

If Legolas had been less mannered, he probably would have spluttered at that. Gimli mentally patted himself on the back.

“I suppose he won’t do the sensible thing. Father told me of the stubbornness of Dwarves,” Legolas scoffed.

Gimli tensed at the familiar insult. At that moment Cedric and their headmasters had arrived, and Gimli told himself that he could not make a scene. Yet something in his brain seemed to turn off whenever Legolas stood near, like he purposefully placed his slender foot on Gimli’s nerves and ground his heel into them.

“You of all people should ridicule someone’s ancestry. I’ve read that Veelas turn into terrifying birds of prey. Do you grow a beak when angered, Thranduil-son?”

If Legolas _could_ grow a beak, he likely would have done so by now. His cheeks were flushed in anger and his hand was hovering near his wand.

“Half-breeds we may both be, but my grandmother could lure men to war over her beauty. Your distant relations could only lead you and your kin to ill-conceived folly. Tell me, does wearing your pride like a medal make it easier to stay in exile?”

Gimli saw red. He shoved Legolas with both hands, sending the bastard straight to the floor with a graceless thump. He had little time to gloat, for Legolas swept Gimli’s legs from under him and sent him sprawling in the other direction. As they scrambled to truly begin fighting, two pairs of hands grabbed Gimli and they were both held back from each other. Gimli squinted as the camera went off a few times, disorienting him.

“Boys, boys,” Bagman said solicitously, helping them both up. “This is not the first task, nor is it the appropriate time for a bit of boyish rivalry! Mr. Ollivander is on his way!”

Gimli broke his handlers’ grips but did not resume fighting. Madame Maxime had stomped right up to Legolas and was whispering furiously in his ear. Gimli enjoyed the moment, because in the next he had to look at Karkaroff’s livid face, like Gimli was the worst disappointment to him since the Muggle-born. Gimli ignored them all, moving to a corner to fume. Dumbledore arrived amidst the confusion, asking for Harry Potter. He found him a moment later, sequestered in a broom closet with Rita Skeeter, which confused and terrified Gimli enough that he was able to focus and appear somewhat more level-headed when Mr. Ollivander was introduced.

“Mr. Greenleaf, could we have you first, please?” Mr. Ollivander asked, stepping into the center of the room.

Legolas ceremoniously handed over his wand. Gimli saw that it was made of a light brown wood and had a naturalistic yet intricate carving of leaves on its handle.

Mr. Ollivander twirled the wand between his long fingers like a baton and it emitted a number of green and gold sparks. Then he held it close to his eyes and examined it carefully.

 

“Yes,” he said quietly, “eleven and a half inches… flexible… yew… and containing… dear me…”

 

“Veela hair,” said Legolas. “One of my grandmother’s.”

 

“Yes,” said Mr. Ollivander, “yes, I’ve never used Veela hair myself, of course. I find it makes for rather temperamental wands.”

  
“Then I’d say it would suit him just fine,” Gimli muttered. Legolas pretended not to hear him, but the tips of his ears were pink.

 

“I am told there may be only three like it. My cousins Fleur and Gabrielle have the same wand core as I.”

 

Mr. Ollivander ran his fingers along the wand, apparently checking for scratches or bumps; then he muttered, “ _Aguamenti_!” and a jet of water issued from the wand tip.

 

“Very well, very well, it’s in fine working order,” said Mr. Ollivander, handing Legolas back his wand. “Mr. Diggory, you next.”

Mr. Ollivander went over Cedric and Harry’s wand and finally asked Gimli for his. Gimli hesitantly handed over his wand, feeling like he was handing over his child. Mr. Ollivander murmured indistinctly over the black wood and silver handle.

“Hmm, rather thicker than one usually sees…seven and a quarter inches…ebony and...my word!”

Ollivander rotated it over and over in his hands, staring at it in awe.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen a wand with a metal core, at least one that wasn’t of goblin make.”

Gimli could feel the stares from everyone in the room taking root under his skin and causing an irritation. He wasn’t ashamed of his wand—this wand had gotten him out of many a scrap and there was none finer for transfiguration work.

“It is common enough where my family hails from.”

Karkaroff looked ready to crawl under a table in embarrassment. Rita Skeeter’s quick quotes quill was scurrying across a piece of parchment. Most everyone looked curious or faintly condescending. Legolas, on the other hand, looked highly interested.

“What metal?” he asked, something no one outside his family had ever done.

“Mithril,” Gimli returned, daring him to make some smart comment about it. Legolas blanched and looked away. Gimli thought at first that he was somehow sickened at the idea of a metal wand core, but that could not be it as he looked almost forlorn now, staring into the middle distance like a memory was playing there for only him to see.

“Very well,” Ollivander said, holding his wand aloft. “Let’s see… _avis_!”

A flock of birds appeared in the air and flew out the open window into the sunlight. Gimli spent the next half hour being put in a never-ending stream of uncomfortable poses for pictures, all the while mulling over what had made Legolas look like that.

***

 

Gimli and Legolas’ fight was thankfully downplayed in the Daily Prophet article. In fact, nearly all of it seemed to be an exposé on the life and times of Harry Potter. The skirmish was tacked on the end of the article, and with their names misspelled to boot. Gimli steered clear of Legolas all the same, for the sake of universal peace.

They were allowed to visit Hogsmeade with the rest of the Hogwarts students that Saturday, so Gimli explored it with Fíli and Kíli, stuffing their pockets with sweets from Honeydukes and drinking butterbeer at The Leaky Cauldron, which did not serve stronger alcohol to anyone under 18. The strangeness of Hogwarts followed them here, its students wearing Support Cedric badges that changed to Potter Stinks at a command. He wondered if a first-year had come up with the idea and if they wore them as a novelty rather than with any true malice.

The distraction only lasted that day, however, and he was left with a deep sense of dread over the upcoming first task. He spent the next week in a stupor, alternating between studying as many defensive and offensive spells he could stand and helping Hagrid wrangle his Blast-Ended Skrewts. It was satisfying work and Gimli found that he could stand the infernal waiting if he had something to do with his hands.

Then one evening Karkaroff came in like a wild man, his hair festooned with leaves and branches. Johanna and Clara snickered quietly in the corner of the galley.

“Get out of here,” Karkaroff barked. Gimli started to go with them, but Karkaroff grabbed his shoulder and made him wait until they were alone.

“The first task will be dragons,” Karkaroff said brusquely.

Gimli felt his heart stop and then start again at the sheer rightness of it. What a perfect way to prove that he was worthy of reclaiming his homeland!

The fog lifted and now Gimli trained with singular purpose, giving Karkaroff’s suggestions barely half an ear as he studied intently to form his own plan. He probably wasn’t going to be asked to slay a dragon, given that this was a sponsored competition in a country that leaned more towards preserving dragons than getting rid of them, so Gimli figured he was going to have to evade a dragon somehow, which was actually the more difficult thing to do.

He made Viktor his confidant on the matter, not because he was in any way a fount of wisdom or bookish wiles, but because he was constantly in the library at the same time Gimli was, so it made sense to have Viktor help fetch books and pore over the ones Gimli thought weren’t going to be that useful.

It was there that Gimli noticed why Viktor, the least studious person Gimli had met outside of Kíli, had made the library his new home—the lovely Hermione had caught his eye, mad house-elf liberation schemes and all.

“Ask her to Hogsmeade,” Gimli whispered, nudging Viktor companionably. A crowd of girls were creeping through the entrance to the library, and Gimli snickered. “Before you’re ambushed again.”

Viktor scowled into _Men Who Love Dragons Too Much._ “She vould not be interested in me.”

Gimli raised an eyebrow. “Ah yes, because world-renowned Quidditch stars aren’t that interesting.”

“She is not impressed with that kind of thing,” Viktor ground out passionately, looking at her with a gaze that could rival Kíli’s transparent longing. He sighed. “She vould vant someone who is witty and handsome.”

“Look here, Krum,” Gimli said, growing offended on his behalf. “Looks and charm only get you in the gate. What everyone wants in love is to be treated like a priceless gem that should never be tarnished or lost. Everything outside of that is just window dressing.”

Hermione looked scathingly at the crowd of girls lurking behind the bookshelves and huffily pulled a bored-looking Harry out of the library. Viktor thoughtfully watched her go.

“I vill try one day, when I am less terrified.”

“That’s the spirit,” Gimli said, sending a glare straight at the girls, who sheepishly backed away, and continued with his studies.

***

The days grew short and Gimli found himself waking up on the eve of the first task with a headache and a fresh batch of nerves. Tomorrow he’d be squaring off against a dragon, and the only comfort he had was that he had a vague plan for what to do. He spent the morning finalizing his plans and testing his spellwork.

Eventually he decided that he’d had enough studying for one lifetime, so he broke off from his friends after lunch and visited Hagrid. His baking couldn’t compare with ol’ Bilbo’s fare, but he was pleasant company and he set Gimli to trying different foods with the Skrewts in an effort to find out what they ate. Gimli suspected they ate _underage wizards_ , but spiritedly threw different types of small woodland creatures into their crates.

Gimli halted when it grew close to dinner. He was crouched behind a crate, cleaning up uneaten small animals, when he spotted a woefully familiar streak of blonde hair dart from the back of the Beauxbatons wagon.

“Hmph,” Gimli grunted, about to pay the idiot no mind until he realized that Legolas was heading straight into the forbidden forest, casting watchful glances around to make sure no one saw him. He was going into the forest that they were specifically told was forbidden because it seemed to contain every class five creature that has ever existed.

What was that bird-brained son of a demon doing in the forbidden forest alone? Gimli _could_ tell his Headmistress and she’d handle the matter, but he wasn’t one to tattle, especially when it wouldn’t do Gimli a bit of good to do so, outside of giving him a moment of vindictive pleasure. In fact, let the idiot get eaten and Gimli’s odds of winning the tournament increased dramatically.

The wind picked up and the forest’s trees swayed. A raven cawed ominously.

Growling, Gimli turned from the allure of the open doors of the castle and the glorious feast beyond and trudged into the forbidden forest.

The woods themselves were quite nice. If it weren’t for the promise of deadly wildlife, Gimli could see how one could spend all their free time exploring the boundaries of this forest. It was darker inside than out, the trees looming and closely knit. Gimli went along a natural path for ten minutes, hoping that the blasted fool hadn’t wandered from it.

He came to a clearing, wondering if he was insane to have come in here. He didn’t want to see anyone, not even Thranduil’s son, die, but the forest seemed to be calm at the moment and it was probably only at night that the worst danger crept about. He sat on a smooth rock and pulled off his work gloves, longing for the pipe he had smuggled into his luggage.

His musings were cut short by someone clearing their throat.

Gimli looked this way and that, trying to find the source of the sound. He eventually looked up at a low-hanging tree and saw Legolas sitting on a branch, glowering down at Gimli. Never breaking his heated gaze, he dropped to the forest floor, predictably nimble-footed, and stalked over to Gimli.

“Is there no peace from you?” Legolas demanded. “You can take your leave now. Go on, tell everyone where I go to, so I can at least have some time to myself before I’m banned from here.”

Gimli was about to flare up and hex him right between the eyes, but something about that statement seemed strange coming from Legolas.

“If I was going to tell anyone, I would have saved myself a hike. I’d just like to know what you think you’re doing, traipsing about in a place that’s filled with foul beasts by yourself.”

Legolas goggled at him, eyebrows bunching in confusion.

“You were worried about my safety?”

Gimli rolled his eyes and counted to ten. He made it to two.

“I don’t go around letting people get swallowed whole, no!”

“I can handle myself.”

“He said, right before a forest troll lopped his head off.”

Legolas rolled his eyes. “If I haven’t gotten eaten since Halloween, then it’s likely I won’t be eaten today.”

“How often do you come here?” Gimli demanded, appalled and privately a little jealous.

“Who’s to say,” Legolas said airily, turning his back on Gimli to pick something from the ground. Gimli raised an eyebrow at a bow and a corresponding bag of arrows.

“Providing toothpicks for the trolls, are we?”

“Quiet!” Legolas snapped.

“Oh, finally hit a silky nerve, have I?”

“Shut it!” Legolas hissed inelegantly, holding up a hand and listening hard. Gimli shuffled restlessly for a moment before he, too, heard it—a hundred scurrying steps, surrounding them on all sides. It sounded like an insect if you were close enough to hear it move, or if it was large enough to hear at a distance.

“Are those…”Gimli trailed off, hardly daring to believe. Legolas nodded.

“Acromantulas. Young ones, should be easy to dispatch,” he assured Gimli, misinterpreting Gimli’s quiet awe as fear. “Stunning them is most effective.”

Legolas, however, didn’t reach for his wand, but instead notched and drew his bow expertly. Gimli simmered at the insinuation that he was some scared first year who was listening nervously to their professor during a practical exam. Gimli drew his wand, but didn’t stun a blasted thing.

“ _Accio axe_.” Gimli intoned. He waited with his arm outstretched, staring evenly at Legolas.

“I didn’t mean to start a competition,” Legolas chided, pure disdain dripping from his words.

“Well, now you’ve got one,” Gimli snarled. Legolas had the nerve to look _concerned_ , like he thought Gimli was being reckless and was going to get himself killed through a false sense of bravado.

The axe slapped into his hand, and Gimli flashed a maddened grin before swinging the axe in a graceful arc and neatly severing the head of the closest acromantula.

Gimli got to savor the bewildered and grudgingly impressed look on Legolas’ face before another wave of spiders broke through the underbrush and set their sights on them. The next few minutes were simply bliss. It had been a long time since his axe had seen real combat, and never against such a dangerous creature. Even as young as they were, the spiders were still at least five feet long and capable of killing them with a single drop of venom.

The glimpses of Legolas that Gimli caught during the mad rush were nothing short of spectacular. Not only did an arrow never miss its target, but when one of the spiders got too close for shooting range, Legolas pulled a pair of wicked daggers from seemingly nowhere and in a blur of silver dispatched the beasts with equal ease. He began to see that Legolas had been telling the truth about taking care of himself, but this was still an alarming amount of spiders to handle on one’s own.

Not that Gimli would have had trouble. He’d likely have a much more difficult battle with a fully grown acromantula, but these were the perfect size for the blade of his axe. They learned quickly and sought to attack him from behind before he could swing, but they had yet to learn how fast Gimli could spin and swing his axe in a complicated pattern of moves he’d learned on all the hunts he’d gone on with his father in summers past.

The spiders eventually decided that they were not easy prey and began to retreat in haste. Legolas’ bow caught a couple as they rushed out of sight, but the day was won. Gimli lowered his axe, giving a victorious shout. Legolas slung his bow and gave his own shout, a fierce joy in his eyes that Gimli was surprised he shared.

“’Stun a few of them’, you said,” Gimli scoffed, a smile still playing on his face. “I believe I just ‘stunned’ fourteen of those monstrosities to an early grave.”

“That is impressive,” Legolas said lightly, and Gimli puffed up with pride before he added, “I did away with sixteen.”

“You lie!” Gimli exclaimed.

“I do not,” Legolas said, sniggering. The wretch.

“You’re forgetting that you had a head start. I had to wait until they were nearly upon me.”

“Are you always such a sore loser?”

Gimli sniffed, putting the blade of his axe to the ground and propping himself up on the end of the handle. “One cannot lose what was never declared a competition to begin with.”

“I believe there is enough competition surrounding us that we can simply assume it follows us everywhere.”

Gimli fell quiet at that. The sun was just beginning to set, and tomorrow he would have to face something far worse than he did now. However, he found that he could feel nothing but peace, even standing next to Legolas Greenleaf. The fight had bolstered his confidence, reminded him that he was a Durin, and he could conquer any foe set before him. There was, however, a palpable sense of awkwardness. He’d seen a side of Legolas just now, in this forest and during the battle, a side that was apart from what Gimli knew a son of Thranduil to be. It didn’t necessarily change things and he was all too quickly remembering why he disliked Legolas, but the simple fact that he’d forgotten at all was noteworthy.

“Since you are as guilty as I am now of trespassing into parts forbidden,” Legolas said, indicating the forest and Gimli’s axe dripping with ichor, “I vouch we forget the matter.”

Gimli nodded. He cast a scouring charm on his axe, promising that he’d give it a proper shine that evening. If the dragon situation got out of hand, a hard axe was a good backup plan. He wondered for the first time if Legolas knew that the first task was dragons, but quickly decided that it didn’t matter. Gimli would hardly tell him, and if he didn’t know, he could likely handle himself. Perish the thought.

“’Til tomorrow,” Gimli said, shouldering his axe and casting a concealment charm on it to avoid any questioning.

“Until then,” Legolas returned, neither leaving nor resuming his perch. He appeared content to just watch Gimli go, his strange and intense regard unsettling Gimli but not angering him for once.


	3. In Which Facing a Dragon Isn't the Worst Part of the Day

Gimli woke on the morning of the first task in a state of unease. He had to take another sleeping draught last night, and yet he’d still slept light. His classmates ate breakfast on board the ship in some symbol of solidarity, offering Gimli advice and distracting conversation. He wished there was a fireplace aboard so that he might call his father.

Before long it was time to go to the dragon enclosure. Fíli and Kíli flanked him, Viktor had his back, and the others walked in a loose pattern around him. They made a fine procession, descending a large hill in their school robes, save Gimli who wore dark blue and gold, the colors of his family crest. His beard was not only fully braided, but braided in battle patterns, creating the least chance of getting it ensnared on anything. He’d even let Fíli braid his head hair and put in large golden clasps to tie it in one braid that went just beyond his shoulders.

The scale of the competition had not occurred to him until he caught sight of only part of the enclosure that held the draogns. Spectators were already there, mostly reporters and officiators, but also those Hogwarts students who didn’t have class at the time or were dismissed early. It was the kind of setting that promised him either victory or a lifetime of everyone recalling the time Gimli became a dragon’s chew toy.

They stopped at a small tent that had been erected at the entrance. He got hugs from his cousins and a pat on the shoulder from Viktor before he went in, alone.

Legolas and Cedric were already there, Cedric pacing in the small space of the tent and Legolas sitting rigid on a stool. Legolas instantly turned to face Gimli, and Gimli’s first thought was that Legolas really should have tied his hair back like Gimli had. Instead, he only sported his usual hairstyle of two braids that kept hair from his face, a single tie in the middle back, and the rest sweeping down in perfect symmetry. His clothing was finer than Gimli had yet seen, though he seemed to enjoy the color green an unhealthy amount, wearing a darker green this time with intricate silver embroidery on his surcoat. It was strangely odd to see him without his weapons. Yesterday in the forest Legolas had looked much more in his element, like he lived and hunted in the forest every day without any concern for the affairs of the outside world.

Gimli acknowledged him by nodding his head, but had not the head for conversation at the moment. The tension in the air was palpable, threatening to choke Gimli with its tight hold. The stands were being filled with excited footfalls and titillated murmurings, the world around and above them existing on an entirely different wavelength.

Bagman appeared in his old Wasp robes, his good cheer and excitement in stark contrast to the contestants, much like a child laughing amid a funeral procession. Harry walked in at last, his eyes wide behind his glasses and looking like he might blow away in a stiff breeze. He didn’t think about the Hogwarts students knowing about the dragons, but Gimli assumed Harry must have because no one would look that haunted without knowing what they were even facing.

“Well, now we’re all here, it’s time to fill you in!” said Bagman brightly. “When the audience has assembled, I’m going to be offering each of you this bag,” he held up a small sack of purple silk and shook it at them, “from which you will each select a small model of the thing you are about to face! There are different varieties, you see. And I have to tell you something else too…ah, yes…your task is to collect the golden egg!”

Gimli hissed through his teeth quietly. He hadn’t counted on them using _nesting mothers_ as an obstacle, which means he would have to improvise a little on certain parts of his plan.

Bagman opened the sack for Legolas. Legolas came up with a tiny living model of a Welsh Green with a number two around its neck, clearly meaning he was to go second.

Bagman offered the bag to Gimli. His eyes widened as he drew the Hungarian Horntail, a four around its neck. He moved to stand woodenly next to Legolas, who was looking at Gimli’s dragon and not his own. After Cedric and Harry drew a Swedish Short-Snout and a Chinese Fireball, respectively, they all placed their dragons together on the table. The Welsh Green bared its fangs at the Hungarian Horntail, which earned it a heavy tail thumping that nearly sent it off the table. Gimli smirked at the pair, amused that even their dragons had a rivalry going.

A whistle blew from far off, and Cedric left the tent.

“Higher score wins?” Legolas asked lightly, breaking the silence left in Cedric’s wake. Harry looked up at Legolas like he was questioning why Legolas did not understand the basic rules, but Gimli managed a small chuckle in understanding.

“I may not win the task, but I can certainly best a pointy-eared twit in a fair match.”

Legolas actually touched the tip of his ear, which had turned red.

“They’re just naturally sharp. I assure you that my grandmother’s were far worse.”

Harry was looking curiously at Legolas’ ears, and it was all so chummy that he’d almost forgotten where they were. At least until the screams and gasps began and the roars of a dragon began to fill the tent. Gimli could only imagine what Cedric was doing up there, and Bagman’s unhelpful commentary seemed to worsen his fears.

“Clever move—pity it didn’t work!”

This went on for an agonizingly long quarter of an hour until a deafening roar signaled that Cedric was triumphant. The scores were not announced but were likely shown to the crowd.

“One down, three to go!” Bagman yelled as the whistle blew again. “Mr. Greenleaf, if you please.”

Legolas left the tent. He appeared unaffected, though Gimli noted that he seemed to walk heavier than normal. Gimli was left alone in the tent with Harry, who had paled considerably since Cedric’s bout and was caught up in his own dread and anxiety. Gimli listened intently to the battle outside. It was awfully quiet out there, save for the tumult of the crowd.

“…not sure of his plan, but he seems awfully calm for someone facing a dragon and…is he _sitting down_?”

What in Merlin’s name was that suicidal son of a parakeet doing out there? Gimli stepped close to the tent’s entrance, trying to sneak a peek, but to no avail.

Out of all things Gimli had expected to hear, a song had not been one of them, least of all from Legolas himself. The crowd was muttering to themselves, unsure of why this was turning into a musical number, but soon even their muttering was silenced. Though Gimli doubted Legolas could seduce men to their own destruction, his voice was indeed fine and was near spellbinding.

 _To the Sea, to the Sea! The white gulls are crying,_  
The wind is blowing, and the white foam is flying.  
West, west away, the round sun is falling.  
Grey ship, grey ship, do you hear them calling,  
The voices of my people that have gone before me?  
I will leave, I will leave the woods that bore me;  
For our days are ending and our years failing.  
I will pass the wide waters lonely sailing.

[[To the Sea by notanightlight](http://notanightlight.tumblr.com/post/97174074578/a-magical-version-of-legolass-song-made-to-bring)]

His voice drifted off, but it left an impression of melancholy longing and ageless serenity. It took even Bagman a moment to recover and resume commentating.

“It appears he has sent the dragon into an enchanted slumber. He’s up now and keeping that lady asleep…”

Gimli could picture it, Legolas with his wand out, leveling the dragon with that all-consuming gaze, picking his way light-footed over to the nest and collecting the egg, calm as you may.

“He’s reaching out, and—she’s awake!”

The crowd let out chorus of shrill cries and screams and once again the dragon was roaring and Gimli could hear it begin to shoot fire. He tensed, wishing he could _see_ , Bagman’s commentary not being very clear.

“Glad we have good rocks to duck behind out there! I don’t know if I would do that if I were him. Let’s see if he has another trick up his sleeve…”

There was a loud clap like thunder, possibly a bid to befuddle the dragon. Gimli could just imagine the suicidal numbskull charging at the dragon like he was fully armed and invincible. Then the audience cheered and clapped wildly as Bagman yelled that Legolas had done it. Gimli realized he’d been gripping his wand too tightly and had to shake some feeling back into it as Legolas' score was tallied.

The third whistle blew and Harry went forward on unsteady legs.

“Remember that she’s a clever and proud breed,” Gimli warned. “She won’t be quick to anger, unless you keep outwitting her, then she’ll go right for you.”

Harry nodded and actually looked a tad grateful, so nervous and off-centered he was.

“Finally, something I’m good at: offending powerful gits who think they’re brilliant.”

With that, he left, and Gimli’s amusement switched to concern for him. He really was young, and powerful or wizard or no, a dragon was no small threat.

He really should not have worried so. Harry summoned a broom, and as odd as that strategy sounded to Gimli, it began to make sense as he heard Bagman and the crowd enthuse and cheer wildly over Harry’s apparent flying skills. From what he could sense of what was happening, Harry had taken Gimli’s advice as something he _should_ do rather than don’t, because he was flying in intricate patterns, feinting and showing up the dragon at every turn. Of course Gimli hadn’t expected Harry to pull a broomstick out of thin air, but he approved the improvisation as Harry got the egg faster than anyone else.

The fourth whistle blew soon after, and Gimli was going past trees and through a gap in the enclosure fence. Hundreds of faces peered down at him from all sides, and there before him was the Hungarian Horntail, skin black as obsidian and great yellow eyes trained on him as she thrashed her spiked tail threateningly.

The moment he beheld the dragon, every last nerve he had left in him was calmed. Replacing it was the cold steel of anger. Fury at past wrongs and injustices, at bloodshed and exile, his family torn asunder and ripped from their homeland. His hatred for Thranduil did not burn as brightly as this, his hatred of dragons. If these cursed things never existed, he would have grown up in the mountains of Erebor, surrounded by riches and all of his family, whole and happy. If this was to be Gimli’s only chance of revenge, he would take it gladly.

He drew his wand, crouching into a battle stance as he intoned, “ _Fjǫlgask_!”

Whispering a litany of other enchantments he had memorized in a strict order, he stepped forward and at least twenty exact duplicates of himself fanned out from him. He finished the spells and sent up a large whirlwind of dust, obscuring himself and his clones so that the dragon couldn’t simply follow where he originated.

As the dust settled, Gimli focused all his concentration on keeping the doubles moving in believable patterns. The dragon cast its reptilian eyes around the enclosure, trying to pinpoint which one was the real Gimli.

“He seems to have truly confused the ‘ol girl! I’m being told that that charm is of Nordic origin, though it’s only meant to project an image of oneself, so why the dragon doesn’t just sniff him out is beyond me!”

Gimli smirked at that one. He’d personally modified the charm to make sure his doubles not only smelled like him, but adopted his mannerisms and even felt warm to the touch. Gimli did not bother hiding behind a rock, as he would be easily singled out.

The Hungarian Horntail was not easily baited, however. She refused to leave her eggs, choosing instead to breathe fire and keep her attackers at a distance. One Gimli had come too close and was instantly set on fire. Gimli had planned for this contingency and the clone dutifully screamed in agony, sending the crowd into a cacophony of horror, which collectively cut off when the clone simply snapped out of existence.

“That was entirely _too_ real there, Mr. Durin!” Bagman shouted excitedly amid the frustrated roars of the dragon.

She was getting angry now, inching from her nest so she could get in range of the pests that were swarming her nest. Each double was doing something to annoy her. One ran by it and tickled her side, easily dispatched by a swipe of spiked tail. Another held a conjured axe and was brandishing it at her wings. One clone was on top of a rock, cajoling, “Have at me, you great ugly beastie!”

Admittedly, Gimli had not been concerned with the _wit_ of his doubles, but it did a good job of getting the dragon further from its nest. It was difficult but manageable work thus far, repeating the incantations whenever he lost a clone and keeping himself blended into the action so he became unnoticeable.

Finally, after one had climbed upon her back, she shook it off and charged right at the real Gimli. Fearing that she had somehow worked out which one was really him but not willing to blow his advantage, Gimli drew up another cloud of dust, this time moving further back and sending the nearest double careening to the unprotected nest.

The dust settled and the dragon spotted the movement and roared mightily, taking the bait and going after the double. Everyone else seemed to take the bait as well, Bagman shouting, “He’s going for it! Wait a moment…another fake!”

The crowd barely heard him, focused instead on the dragon slashing the clone with its claws and blood pouring to the ground before it too disappeared into the ether. Now the dragon was simply shooting fire at anything that moved. Gimli knew this was his chance, before he too was set ablaze.

He waited for the dragon to release a particularly long volley of fire, until he had a short window in which to act. He took two doubles with him, the three of them hurtling across the grounds to the nest. The dragon immediately rushed them, grabbing the one to Gimli’s left in its mighty jaws. Gimli heard the sickening crunch of bone before it dissipated. He tried getting another clone to come in from further out, but the dragon was wholly focused on the two Gimlis in front of it, and Gimli was using all his concentration on maintaining his one clone.

As the nest came upon them, Gimli had to make the quickest and most important decision of his life: send the double or send himself. Going against every survival instinct he possessed, Gimli went first, guessing what move the dragon would make. Gimli snatched the egg just as the dragon went for the clone, incorrectly guessing that Gimli would try to trick him. Every clone disappeared and Gimli was intercepted by a team of dragon herders and the Horntail was subdued.

“And he’s done it! That was some masterful if not terrifying spellwork—he’s got to be proud of himself!”

Gimli walked with his egg back to the front of the enclosure to wait for his scores. The other three champions and a smatter of onlookers were already there. Harry had a cut on his leg that had been seen to, and Cedric had a thick orange paste on his face that covered a nasty burn. Both of them thumped him on the back enthusiastically.

Legolas was far calmer than when Gimli had last seen him, but there was a glimmer of severity in his eyes.

“You gambled, near the end,” Legolas said, lowly.

“I never gamble, Mr. Greenleaf,” Gimli admonished, though he gave him a conspiratorial wink. Legolas actually rolled his eyes, but something in his shoulders relaxed. Gimli was then knocked off balance by a pair of overexcited cousins slamming into his sides. Kíli jumped into Gimli’s arms and locked his legs around Gimli’s waist, pumping his fist in the air.

“THE LINE OF DURIN SHALL NEVER BE BROKEN!” he yelled, laughing his fool head off. Fíli threw an arm around his shoulder and cuffed his head, whooping and hollering just as loudly.

“But dear Merlin, cousin, why did you have to make those things look so real? I wanted to jump out of the stands and avenge your death when the first one went up,” Fíli said, though he didn’t seem too upset about it.

“They’re putting up your scores!” Harry’s redheaded friend exclaimed, pointing. Gimli took a moment to try and remember the boy’s name, but he’d seen him far less than Hermione and thus was at a loss. Gimli turned instead to watch the five judges wave to the crowd.

Madame Maxime was first, raising her wand in the air until a silver ribbon shot out of it and twisted itself into an eight. Mr. Crouch gave a nine. Dumbledore actually put up a ten.

“Wholly unbiased,” Fíli observed, elbowing Gimli.

Bagman gave a nine.

“Speaking of biased,” Harry said, clapping. “He gave me a ten, even with the injury.”

Karkaroff was last. Gimli was unsurprised to see him give ten, though it sent the ginger boy off on a rant over him giving Harry only four, which Gimli had to agree was highly unfair.

“You’re in first place!” Kíli yelled exuberantly. Gimli looked toward Legolas, who simply inclined his head in acknowledgement. It was then that Gimli felt the first real rush of triumph sing in his blood. Dragons were far more impressive than acromantulas, particularly wee ones.

The champions were told to go back to the tent alone, so Gimli left Fíli and Kíli to their merrymaking and entered the tent again.

“Well done, all of you!” said Ludo Bagman, giddily flouncing into the tent. “Now, just a quick few words. You’ve got a nice long break before the second task, which will take place at half past nine on the morning of February the twenty-fourth—but we’re giving you something to think about in the meantime! If you look down at those golden eggs you’re all holding, you will see that they open…see the hinges there? You need to solve the clue inside the egg—because it will tell you what the second task is, and enable you to prepare for it! All clear? Sure? Well, off you go, then!”

Gimli left the tent on a cloud, feeling as if the last hour had been a dream and he was still waiting for his turn to come up. Harry and Cedric went off with their friends while Gimli found himself walking with Legolas, mostly because the Durmstrang students were near the Beauxbatons lot. Gimli smirked as he caught sight of long red hair and found Tauriel talking to an enraptured Kíli. Legolas hung back, looking for all the world like an exasperated father, which was an improvement, at least.

“Ah, young love,” Gimli remarked, mischievously. Legolas sighed, sliding his eyes over to Gimli, considering.

“I am hardly able to tell Tauriel what to do,” Legolas said. “Only, I worry about her. She was born different than us.”

“Different how?” Gimli asked.

“She is Muggle-born,” Legolas admitted in a low voice, as if it was some shameful secret.

“ _Muggle-born_?” Gimli repeated, disgusted at the insinuation. He had pegged Legolas for a lot of terrible things, but prejudiced against the Muggle-born had amazingly not occurred to him.

Legolas stiffened at his tone, eyes darkening.

“Yes, Muggle-born! Does Kíli not know?”

“He wouldn’t have assumed such a thing!” Gimli exclaimed.

Legolas fumed silently and made to leave, but something halted his steps and he turned his head hesitantly, seeming at war with himself. “I had thought you different.”

“Funny,” Gimli growled. “You seem to be even worse than I imagined.”

Legolas scowled and left. Gimli seethed as if he had lost the entire tournament already, when victory had been so recently at hand.

***

He thought his father might cheer him up. Gimli borrowed Hagrid’s fireplace that evening and spoke with him, hinting around at possibly joining the quest for Erebor. Glóin sighed heavily, though he did not immediately shut Gimli down on the matter.

“You did some fine work today, and I’m the proudest father this side of the mountain,” Glóin said, “but that is a matter that needs considering for another day. So, how did Thranduil’s spoiled lump enjoy your victory?”

Gimli winced at the choice of subject change. He couldn’t tell his father that Legolas had taken the defeat in stride, not after their ensuing fight, so he sniffed and answered, “Probably crying into his silken pillows about how unfair it all was.”

That done, Gimli returned to the ship before curfew and was met with an impromptu party on his behalf. Though certainly not in the mood, Gimli stayed for propriety’s sake, even warming up to the cheerful atmosphere after a time. He opened the egg for everyone, and nearly sent them diving overboard to get away from the racket.

“Is your egg defective?” Kíli asked when Gimli slammed it shut.

“I am thinking it is a banshee,” Ingrid guessed, poking at Clara who had not unplugged her ears.

“At least you have until end of February,” Viktor said, patting Gimli on the shoulder companionably. Gimli tossed the egg to Fíli, thinking that it was just right that he had yet another blasted thing to think over. He’d almost prefer facing a dragon again over figuring out some mad egg riddle.

Finally, he begged off for the night and settled into bed, though he just stared at the ceiling. Frustrated, he kicked his blankets off and sighed. He should be sleeping the slumber of the conquering hero right now, not picking apart the events of the day.

He almost wanted to march right up to the Beauxbaton’s carriage in the middle of the night and just have it out with Legolas so he could get some sleep. It didn’t make sense why this fight bothered him more than when they’d actually fought with fists. But he did know why, and that was the worst part of it all. He’d started to _like_ Legolas, daft bastard though he was. Gimli scoffed at himself, because he should have known better than to assume anything good resided in Legolas Greenleaf, son of the traitor Thranduil. He’d be better off avoiding the prat entirely and just chalk up this aberration as the failure in compassion it was.

Gimli finally sat up in bed and groped at his side table for the sleeping draught, knowing there was no way he was getting to sleep without it.

***

One terrible night of sleep later, Gimli had a new plan: find Legolas, kick him in the face a few times, gain a full night’s rest. He went to breakfast early, taking his time eating so he could catch Legolas whenever he showed up. When it ended with no sign of the bastard, Gimli went with Viktor to the library and half-heartedly researched ear-splitting sounds that might come out of a golden egg.

Lunch rolled around and still no sign of Legolas. Frustrated, Gimli stalked from the Great Hall, cursing pretty boys who skipped meals to keep their svelte figures. He halted on the front steps, looking beyond Hagrid’s hut in the distance and to the forest. Gimli was not known for his patience, thus he found himself barreling full tilt to the line of foreboding trees and traced the same path he had taken just two days ago.

Gimli had almost reached the familiar clearing when he heard a branch snap and was instantly face-to-face with a nocked arrow. It was immediately lowered, its owner scowling in irritation.

“You breathe so heavily that I thought you were a beast.”

“No beast, but I still have teeth,” Gimli growled threateningly.

“Don’t bother baring them, for I have nothing of worth to say to you,” Legolas said crisply, turning his back on Gimli and heading deeper into the forest. The cheek! Gimli lumbered after him, dead set on having this matter out.

“So I and my family merit no consideration from you?”

Legolas seemed bent on ignoring Gimli, picking his way down an uneven hill. No matter—Gimli had learned well from his cousins how to goad even the most stoic of creatures into states of frenzy.

“Is it peaceful in your mansion in the sky? You know, if you’re tired of having to look upon the world and its dim pleasures, perhaps you could shove your own head up your arse.”

Legolas halted abruptly and turned stiffly.

“If only you took your own advice,” he said, hands clenching. Gimli had heard much worse and it was indeed a comeback a child would barely be proud of, but it still managed to rankle him.

“The way you constantly dog her steps…tell me—does Tauriel know how you really see her?”

Legolas snapped. Faster than Gimli’s eye could follow, Legolas picked up a small rock and launched it at Gimli’s stomach. It hit with a modicum of pain. Gimli snarled and snatched up a rock, hitting Legolas in his shoulder. As Gimli cast his eyes to the ground in search of a _bigger_ rock, he was distracted by Legolas’ voice, words seemingly torn out of him.

“I don’t feel that way for her anymore!”

Gimli paused, mind going over what had been said and wondering when he’d lost control of the situation and why.

“I didn’t say that you did,” Gimli said slowly.

Legolas deflated almost instantly, eyes impossibly wide. Suddenly a lot of things made sense, and Gimli knew he had the upper hand here. Legolas even tensed, ready for an onslaught of ridicule. It would serve him right, but there were more important matters to attend to here. He wasn’t, however, going to be pulling any punches.

“Is it her being Muggle-born that upsets you or is it her being with someone else?”

“The latter, though not in the way _you_ mean. She deserves the best. She deserves someone who cares not for her parentage,” Legolas said. “Ach! This conversation is pointless, since you have likely told your cousin about her already.”

Gimli’s mind blanked, because there were so many things wrong with that statement that he couldn’t figure out where to begin.

“Why should Kíli care about her parentage? She could be an actual Muggle and still he would not care.”

Legolas actually looked chagrined, which cheered Gimli until he went on and said, “I thought he shared your beliefs.”

“He _does_ share my beliefs!” Gimli insisted, hand itching for a good-sized rock. It didn’t soothe his violent tendencies when Legolas stared disbelievingly at Gimli.

“You acted disgusted that Tauriel was Muggle-born, and you are from Durmstrang.”

The last one, at least, made some sense, though Gimli was still insulted by the first.

“I was disgusted over _you_ thinking that being a Muggle-born mattered! And what of my being from Durmstrang?”

“They do not even allow the Muggle-born to attend! Grindewald himself hailed from Durmstrang.”

“And you think every single person there is a Grindewald supporter? Right, because no other wizarding school has ever churned out a dark lord, ever,” Gimli snapped irritably, pointing backwards at Hogwarts castle.

“Your school’s reputation is hardly befitting an attitude of tolerance. And I was told that you are from a proud, old pure-blood family.”

By all that was sacred, how wrong-headed could one possibly be?

“Proud, yes. Pure-blood, not particularly.”

“So,” Legolas said heavily, leaning against a nearby tree, “we are arguing over both of us being in complete agreement.”

Gimli couldn’t help it—he burst out laughing. Legolas startled at the sound, but was soon smiling helplessly. Still laughing, Gimli walked closer to Legolas.

“What a waste of time. I could have _cracked_ that egg riddle by now.”

Legolas groaned theatrically. “That was a truly awful pun.”

“On the contrary,” Gimli corrected. “It was an _egg_ cellent play on words.”

That got him—Legolas barked out a laugh. His eyes glinted wickedly.

“The yolk’s on you: I can shell out much worse.”

Both of them dissolved into ridiculous giggles. If Gimli had been given a thousand years to predict how this day might have gone, he would never have guessed that this would be an outcome. They finally subsided, though the good cheer didn’t leave.

“Should have known everyone figured we hated the Muggleborn. I mean, they almost have it right. The nine of us on the ship aren’t that way, though my family is far more liberal than Poliakoff’s or Johanna’s, but then we are in the minority at Durmstrang.”

“Good to know my prejudice for Durmstrang is rooted in some fact,” Legolas said with an air of self-depreciating sarcasm.

“Well, I’m sure we have our own erroneous beliefs about Beauxbatons. We’re told that the lot of you are spoiled and eat in a great hall filled with gold and diamonds, serenaded by choirs of water nymphs.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Legolas defended. “They’re _wood_ nymphs.”

That set them off again, Legolas hunched over and Gimli wiping tears from his eyes. If his family could see him now, they would have thought Gimli had gone loony from tournament stress.

“Still,” Legolas said, the humor falling from his voice. “There are plenty of narrow-minded Beauxbatons students. A few are so sunk into pure-blood rhetoric that they actually believe that I can turn into a winged monster and peck them to death in their sleep.”

Gimli guffawed, which was probably insulting, since Legolas was being serious, but Legolas appeared glad that Gimli found it an amusing notion. Feeling comfortable, Gimli sank to the ground, legs stretched. Legolas folded his long legs underneath him, graceful as a deer.

“The first time Krum met me, he asked if my family lived in a hole underground,” Gimli said fondly, shaking his head.

“That’s horrible!” Legolas exclaimed.

“Ach, he didn’t know better,” Gimli assured, waving his concern away. “I was maybe offended for a half hour before I realized that he wasn’t insulting me. Sometimes folks just need to be educated in matters.”

“And sometimes no amount of logic can enter their thick heads,” Legolas muttered. His face turned thoughtful and hesitant, like he was working himself up to say something.

“So, it is true then? You have Dwarf blood in you?”

“Indeed.”

“Dwarf…I’ve never seen one before.”

“Well, you wouldn’t around here, or in France for that matter. European Dwarves live in much colder climes.”

“Aren’t Dwaves—” Legolas blurted, face reddening. Gimli looked on in amusement at Legolas' sudden embarrassment, expectantly waiting for him to continue. Then Legolas brought his hands up and started to mime what looked like checking a melon for ripeness. Gimli snorted, finally getting what he was artlessly asking.

“They are indeed a short people. Actually,” Gimli said, warming to the subject, “it was more socially acceptable a century or two ago to have interspecies marriages. In my family, it’s my great-great-grandfather who’s a Dwarf. Technically I’m more human than Dwarf after three generations, though the height and hair growth almost always get passed down.”

“I imagine you’ve had your fair share of bigotry aimed at you. Perhaps even more so than I did.”

Gimli grunted in affirmation. “Being a 12-year-old with a full beard is perhaps more challenging than having the face of angels.”

Legolas cut his eyes over to Gimli, a sly look on his face that Gimli didn’t like at all.

“Oh Gimli, you needn’t hide your feelings for me any longer.”

Gimli choked and made unintelligible noises of rage as Legolas chuckled merrily. Gimli thought his laughter sounded like tinkling bells, which only made him more enraged at his traitorous thoughts.

“You may have the face of an angel,” Gimli growled, “but you've the mind of the devil.”

Legolas just sat, smug and insufferable as the day was long. Gimli gave up and went back to what he’d been saying.

“In any case, I’ve indeed suffered some unfair treatment. Why, back in Erebor…”

Gimli trailed off, not wishing to speak of it. Legolas froze, the smile abruptly falling from his face. He looked down, scowling into his lap.

“Perhaps it’s best to avoid that topic,” Legolas mumbled.

“Unless we start throwing rocks like cavemen again, right,” Gimli agreed, mood effectively darkened. They sat in an uncomfortable silence until Legolas lifted his head, staring at Gimli intently.

“We should have a truce, here and now. For the duration of this tournament, we swear to get along to the best of our ability.”

“Aye, like _asking_ before we get all offended over nothing.”

Gimli stuck out his hand. Legolas readily accepted it, tangling his long, cool fingers with Gimli’s thick and warm ones. Gimli made to let go, but Legolas kept his grip, his eyes beseeching.

“We will talk about Erebor. Soon.”

Gimli fought down his urge to grind Legolas’ hand into dust, and nodded. Something occurred to him and he renewed his own grip.

“Kíli and Fíli are part of the truce. Try to actually talk to them, not just at them.”

Legolas nodded and released his hand. Gimli left shortly after, leaving Legolas to go deeper into the woods and possibly swing in the trees, presumably. When he went to bed that night, he was asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.


	4. Diplomatic Relations in Greenhouse Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [notanightlight](http://notanightlight.tumblr.com) performed a rendition of Legolas' First Task song! I added it to the previous chapter, but you can listen to it right [here](http://notanightlight.tumblr.com/post/97174074578/a-magical-version-of-legolass-song-made-to-bring). Kudos and comments honestly make my entire day, and you are all awesome for giving them.

December arrived with a vengeance. The sky opened up and unleashed its wintery fury upon the Durmstang ship, rocking it relentlessly upon icy waves. Gimli had tried one night to camp out with Kíli and Fíli on the shore of the lake in a nicely heated tent, but Karkaroff had furiously tossed them back on board and called them an embarrassment to the good name of Durmstrang Institute. Gimli constantly pondered whether or not it was possible to become addicted to sleeping droughts.

The next Hogsmeade weekend arrived in short order. The weather decided to let up that day in the spirit of the season and gifted them with a pleasant sifting of snow that whispered over the quaint village. Gimli felt like he had been shrunk and charmed into a snow globe. Christmas trees were a stone’s throw from each other with floating candles and holly wreathes festooned doors. The shop windows were decorated for the holidays, boasting hand-crafted fineries and seasonal delights.

Gimli’s mood was at first miserable despite the welcoming melee of Hogsmeade, because he remembered that Durmstrang students weren’t allowed to go home for break, seeing as they were there for school solidarity and the upcoming Yule Ball was a mandatory event. It would be the first time he’d spent Christmas away from home, and it would have been unbearable without Fíli and Kíli. The three of them cheered themselves up by going in and out of shops for over three hours and buying gifts for everyone back home. He’d finished himself in under an hour, getting useful gifts such as Honeydukes sweets for his classmates, a new fiddle for Fíli, boots for Kíli, and a host of other things he shrunk and put into his coat pockets.

Gimli met up with Fíli on the main road. He was waiting outside an antique store they’d already been in, pacing and irritably kicking snow out of his way. Gimli was wondering if he should double back and perhaps see the Shrieking Shack when a large black dog trotted up to him and Gimli fell instantly in love.

“Hey there, boy, come here, come here!” Gimli called, patting his knee and stretching out his hand for the dog to sniff. The dog, however, was a wary stray, tilting his head to the side and working out if Gimli could be trusted. He made up his mind and went straight to Gimli’s pocket, clearly having caught a whiff of his Honeydukes haul. Gimli contentedly began to pat his head and cooed adoringly at him. When Fíli drew near, he momentarily abandoned Gimli’s ministrations to nose at his pockets too.

“Hey now! Sweets aren’t good for a pup like you, go on!” Fíli scolded.

The dog whined low, begging. Gimli had a chest-sized soft spot for dogs, so he stole into a deli and bought a hefty ham sandwich.

“Here you go, boy,” Gimli called, casting the sandwich to the ground. The dog immediately tore into it, his ears perked up and his tail wagging so fast that it was likely to fly off into the sky. Gimli chuckled and took the opportunity to pet him some more.

“You realize that he’ll be following you around everywhere you go now?” Fíli warned, some of his irritation falling away as Gimli made a spectacle of himself.

“Oh no, whatever shall I do?” Gimli cooed, ruffling the dog’s ears. “A little puppy following me all day, how will I stand the horror?”

“Pup?” Kíli laughed, having left the shop without Gimli noticing. “I’m pretty sure if he stood up he’d be taller than you.”

“Now, you don’t listen to that mean man,” Gimli warned, convinced that the dog understood everything he was saying as he gazed into his thankful brown eyes. “Who’s a widdle pup in a Christmas shop? You are!”

“Durmstrang’s mighty champion, everyone,” Fíli announced, sweeping his arm over Gimli and the dog.

Sadly, the dog had sensed Gimli had no more treats on offer, and set off to find a new benefactor. That seemed to be Harry Potter, who didn’t even pet him properly but said some command and the dog stuck to his side as Harry and his two friends left the main street. Gimli looked on in jealousy.

“You have five at home,” Fíli reminded Gimli. Gimli sighed forlornly, but conceded the point. “Three Broomsticks?”

Gimli nodded. Kíli nudged Gimli before he could head in that direction. He looked this way and that, clearly trying to be inconspicuous but achieving the exact opposite.

“Do you think this is too much for Tauriel?” Kíli asked Gimli, uncharacteristically shy as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a thin silver necklace.

“Of course it is, are you daft?” Gimli admonished, though he took the delicate piece of jewelry and examined it anyway, admiring its pattern of delicate leaves and flowers. Kíli opened his mouth to defend himself, but suddenly paled and snatched the necklace back.

“On second thought, it is definitely too much, let’s return it, right now,” he said hurriedly, pulling at Gimli.

“What are you on about?” Gimli demanded, stubbornly planting his feet.

“Are you seriously giving that to Tauriel?” Fíli asked, sidling over to Gimli and matching his judgmental stare at Kíli.

“Nope, let’s go, got to return it,” Kíli babbled. Gimli noticed that he was looking at something over Gimli’s shoulder. “Well, that’s torn it,” Kíli said as Gimli turned around to see.

Tauriel was standing outside Scrivenshaft’s Quill Shop, looking right at their little trio. Inevitably, Legolas exited the shop to join her. He was wrapped in a light brown cloak and held a long, thin package wrapped in parchment under one arm. She whispered something to him and together they headed their way.

“Oh great—she saw the necklace and there’s no teachers to hold Gimli back if pretty boy says something smart,” Kíli fretted.

Gimli was enjoying himself immensely. He kept a frown fixed in place for show, savoring Fíli’s groan.

“I’m going to be in the papers tomorrow,” he murmured, rolling his eyes heavenwards.

“Lovely day, isn’t it?” Tauriel greeted, her hands clasped in front of her.

“A fine day,” Fíli agreed, since his brother had gone mute. A beat of silence passed and Fíli feigned sudden inspiration as he said, “Hey, we’re heading over to the Three Broomsticks. You can tag along, if you’d like.”

“Thank you, but I’m afraid I can’t at the moment,” Tauriel said. “I have a nasty cold coming on and I’ve been told that if I don’t get back to the carriage right now, I won’t be getting a present for Christmas.”

Gimli suddenly noticed her pale complexion and reddened nose. Her voice also sounded a tad scratchier than normal.

“That’s blackmail, that is,” Gimli said, mock affronted. “I can’t imagine who would be so terrible as to resort to such dirty tactics.”

Legolas hummed and nonchalantly peered at a display of poinsettias. Gimli exhaled once in amusement. Fíli looked at Gimli suspiciously while Kíli predictably noticed nothing but the ailing lady before him.

“If you want, I can bring you some soup later?” Kíli blurted a tad too eagerly.

“That sounds nice,” Tauriel agreed, unknowingly giving Kíli a gift of priceless worth. “It was nice seeing you all!”

Legolas silently unclasped his cloak and laid it over Tauriel’s shoulders. Kíli glared at the gesture, but Gimli thought it was rather chivalrous of him. Tauriel mumbled a quiet thank you and started up the street. Kíli’s dark look spiraled into one of outrage as Legolas pickpocketed him and dangled the silver necklace in front of his face. Fíli started to square off against Legolas and Gimli held him back, though he had no idea what Legolas was playing at himself.

“You should indeed return this,” Legolas whispered gravely. “She far prefers gold.”

Kíli froze, a look of utter shock on his face. With that, Legolas tossed the necklace in the air and Kíli barely caught it, so shell-shocked was he. Legolas moved close to Gimli, face radiating innocence and his eyebrows steadily climbing up as Gimli waited for an explanation.

“You wanted me to talk to him,” Legolas told Gimli quietly, shrugging one delicate shoulder as he walked away. “I talked to him.”

Gimli let out a hearty laugh, startling everyone in the vicinity. He watched Legolas leave the village cloakless, hoping that the Beauxbatons carriage was warmer than the Durmstrang ship. That left Gimli with two flummoxed cousins, each eyeing him like they suspected someone of polyjuicing themselves into Gimli and subsequently drowning the real Gimli in the lake.

“Did I just see you and Thranduil’s son _getting along_?” Fíli asked.

“You did,” Gimli said shortly. When they continued to stare, he added, “We have a truce.”

“A truce? So he’s on our side, not his father’s?” Kíli asked incredulously.

Gimli went silent, because he had no answer to that and it distressed him. Fíli, to his credit, did not immediately start shouting at Gimli’s lack of response like Kíli was getting ready to do, but instead leveled a stern glare at him.

“I’m glad you decided to stop fighting for the sake of the tournament, but it looked to me like you were being chummy with him.”

“There is nothing friendly going on,” Gimli insisted, though he felt terrible for saying so as he was pretty sure that he was lying through his teeth. “We’re going to have a pint and you two’ll just be grateful of a ceasefire.”

They looked at Gimli then each other, using some of that familial telepathy to decide if they were going to let him off the hook.

“So, are we going to let Kíli call on his lady without brushing his hair properly?” Fíli asked Gimli, in what must have been the most charitable subject change in history.

“Forget that part, where’s he going to find and cook some soup?”

“That part’s easy,” Kíli interceded. “Fred and George let us know where the kitchens are!”

Gimli listened to this tale as they entered the Three Broomsticks, but a strange guilt kept him preoccupied. After all, Legolas had begun to honor his side of the truce, and Gimli had yet to honor his.

***

Gimli swore he wasn’t going to lose one more night of sleep over Legolas Greenleaf, so he went to breakfast to find Legolas and face this issue head on.

Gimli had watched Legolas’ eating habits ever since the first time he tried to find Legolas at two separate meal times. Turns out that Legolas has absolutely no pattern at all for how he took his repast. He could be present for every meal one day, miss all of them the next, or sit for any combination of the three.

It looked to be a light day, as Gimli did not see him at breakfast nor did it look like he was going to show up for lunch. As he finished his meal, he spotted Tauriel finishing hers. Before he lost his nerve, he stood abruptly, unsettling Viktor and Fíli’s plates and went directly over to the Ravenclaw table.

“Good afternoon,” Gimli greeted, taking a seat on the adjacent bench. “I see you’re feeling better?”

“Very much so,” Tauriel said, trying to look past Gimli at the Slytherin table. “If Kíli would like to know, his soup was quite therapeutic.”

“He didn’t send me, if that’s what you’re getting at,” Gimli said, amused.

“Oh,” she said. Gimli’s eyes danced as he noted the genuine disappointment in her voice.

“But you ought to know that he’s very much free for the Yule Ball and he’s looking to ask someone special.”

“Is he?” Tauriel asked with interest. “How long does he plan on waiting?”

Gimli really, really liked this one. “Not to the last minute, I’m sure, but most certainly when it’s most unexpected and abrupt.”

“Some would call it artless charm,” Tauriel mused, eyes once again straying to where Kíli most undoubtedly was.

“I suddenly understand how you put up with certain people. Are you naturally this kind and forgiving or have you just had a lot of practice?”

Tauriel nearly snorted into her pumpkin juice. “Legolas is far more difficult to put up with than a dozen Kílis. I bet Kíli never ran off for a week without telling his best friend where he went.”

“Well, I bet Legolas never trained a Quidditch team by lobbing bludgers at them.”

Tauriel laughed brightly. “So he was their captain?”

“Wasn’t even on the team,” Gimli confided, further making her laugh. “Still, I think I got the better deal.”

“Legolas is hard to reach sometimes,” Tauriel admitted, voice turning serious. “He’s always going off on his own and even when he’s right in front of you, he’s locked in his own head. But he’s always worth the effort it takes to drag him out.”

Gimli thought on that a moment. Tauriel was looking at Gimli in a new way, as if she knew something Gimli did not. Well, she must, because Gimli certainly didn’t understand Legolas a bit.

“Speaking of hard to reach,” Gimli said, shamelessly steering the conversation back to its original intent. “Where can I find Legolas when he’s not holed up in a carriage or terrorizing the forest?”

“You know about the forest?” she asked, surprised.

“A little,” he admitted. “Does he have more secret hiding spots?”

“About a dozen,” Tauriel merrily answered. “But outside of those, he’s usually at the greenhouses.”

Gimli wrinkled his nose. “He’s big on Herbology?”

“Afraid so. Astronomy is his best subject, however.”

“Why am I not surprised,” Gimli said, shaking his head. “Well, as a thank you for the information, you might want to know that aside from the lake or Hagrid’s hut, Kíli can often be found exploring the castle, particularly the dungeons.”

Tauriel gave him a wink, and Gimli returned a smile before he walked back to his table.

“Did you talk about me?” Kíli asked urgently.

“Of course. Told her you were into Quidditch and she said you were charming.”

Kíli beamed, and Gimli smirked to himself. Moments later he departed for the greenhouses.

Tauriel had been spot on. Gimli found Legolas in the second greenhouse he came upon. His back was turned to the door. Another boy was further down the greenhouse with a spade and a tray of glowing mushrooms, but otherwise it was empty. Gimli approached Legolas, anticipating he would notice Gimli right away, but his head remained bent over the unpleasant task of squeezing pus out of a Bubotuber.

Wondering why he’d gone unnoticed, Gimli crept closer and saw that Legolas was wearing a strange set of earmuffs. Gimli had to fight and resist the temptation to startle Legolas and perhaps make him spill the neat line of bottles he was filling, but doing so would only make Gimli have to smell the stuff and so it wasn’t worth the effort. He walked around in full view, waiting until Legolas finally caught sight of him. He immediately shucked the dragon-hide gloves he was wearing and pulled the ear muffs down to his neck where they emitted a strange noise.

“What brings you ‘round here?” Legolas asked.

“What on earth are those?” Gimli demanded, pointing at the ear muffs that were connected to a long wire that disappeared into Legolas’ cloak.

“They’re headphones,” Legolas explained. He reached inside his cloak and brought out a funny little box. He pressed a button with double lines and the sound abruptly stopped. “I like to listen to music while I garden.”

Gimli found he couldn’t stop staring at the contraption. With a knowing smile, Legolas pressed another button and a tiny hatch popped open. He slid out a smaller plastic box and offered it to Gimli. Gimli gingerly took it and began examining it from all angles. Legolas held up the larger box.

“This is called a Walkman,” he said proudly. “It plays music wherever you want. What you’re holding is called a Cassette. The Walkman uses tiny gears to force music from the tape using electricity. Muggles bottle electricity in Batteries to run the gears.”

Gimli had no idea what he was going on about, but he nodded at the right times and handed the Cassette back to Legolas, who returned it to its tiny compartment.

“It’s a fine machine,” Gimli said politely, though he was still dubious.

“Tauriel gave it to me two years ago. I have a CD Player at home that uses Lasers to play music, but I haven’t worked out how yet. I have a larger Walkman Radio in my room, but I need bigger Batteries because electricity doesn’t work around large concentrations of magic.”

Gimli sensed that he’d stumbled upon a beloved subject of Legolas’. He settled himself on a stool.

“If I’d known this about you, I would never have said you were prejudiced against the Muggleborn.”

“Their music is wonderful,” Legolas gushed, returning the Walkman to the side of his cloak with care. “Wizarding Wireless is fine enough, but have you noticed how few songs are released each year? There’s only one all-wizarding radio station, WWN, and most of it is news and talk shows. Anything else you’d have to go listen to local bands or buy records, which are relatively expensive since they take intricate spellwork. Muggles have several radio stations in just one city and there are so many different kinds of music that I still can’t count how many different genres there are.”

“I like grungy music myself,” said the boy who had been quietly tending mushrooms. He was a round-faced, chubby lad who approached Legolas like he was unsure of his own welcome, though Legolas looked pleased at what he’d said. “Legolas is going to let me borrow his Walkman for a Muggle Studies presentation next week.”

“I wish Beauxbatons had a Muggle Studies class,” Legolas groused. “I would have learned all about these things years ago.”

“Durmstang would have to start letting the _Muggleborn_ in before they’d consider letting students learn about Muggles themselves.”

“My gran said it was a soft option,” the boy said, and almost defensively added, “But I think Muggles are clever.”

Gimli was far too used to people assuming things about him because of his school, so he gave the boy a warm smile and a reassurance.

“They’d have to be, to come up with such things. Why, if you took my wand from me, I’d probably go back to living in caves.”

The boy beamed at Gimli before he turned to Legolas again. “Professor Sprout said that you can keep two or three of those bottles if you fill the rest for her class tomorrow.”

“Thank you, Neville,” Legolas said appreciatively. Neville nodded and started to walk out the door before remembering he was still wearing his apron. He yanked it off and hung it on a hook near the door before he left for good.

“Now, why in the world would you willingly want a bottle of that rank stuff?” Gimli asked in a conspiratorial whisper. “Do you secretly have terrible acne?”

“It has more useful properties than acne control,” Legolas explained. He hesitated before picking up one of the bottles and shaking it gently in front of Gimli.

“Bubotuber pus is the key ingredient for love potion antidotes.”

Gimli let the implications of that sink in.

“People slip you love potions?” he blurted.

“Often, yes,” Legolas disclosed heavily, setting the bottle back onto the table. “It becomes more frequent when major social events are announced, such as a Yule Ball. Valentine’s day is a living nightmare of spiked chocolates and noisome perfumes.”

Gimli found the idea instantly hilarious. He imagined the onslaught of gifts and Legolas perhaps needing Tauriel to administer the antidote every time he declared his love for someone new, maybe even at breakfast.

“Oh, you poor soul. Besieged by masses of lovelorn admirers. Do you pick dates by throwing names into a hat?”

“It’s not funny,” Legolas bit out. “Mostly it’s harmless, that is true enough. Most are young and can barely brew a proper draught and only want me to flirt with them a bit or take them to Madam Puddifoot’s. Others are not so innocent.”

He stopped for a moment, a wave of melancholy stealing over his features. Gimli waited with bated breath for him to go on, a sense of unease pervading him.

“The first time, I was twelve. I woke up one morning convinced I was in love with one of my father’s business associates. If my father had not been so protective of me and discovered what happened right away…it doesn’t bear thinking about. The man was indicted and I have a dose of antidote once a week to avoid the influence.”

A chill swept through Gimli and a sharp stab of sympathy coursed through him for Legolas. Sure, love potions were mostly an innocent transgression, but he’d heard enough horror stories growing up to be ashamed of his own flippant attitude. Even more he realized that it wasn’t bad enough that Legolas was good-looking on his own, but the bit of Veela in him unintentionally made the more susceptible of witches and wizards that much more obsessed with possessing him in some way. It was little wonder Legolas preferred to be alone more often than not.

“I apologize. I have once again misjudged you in some way,” Gimli said gravely. He stopped Legolas with a raised hand when he made to excuse Gimli’s trespass. “In hopes of redeeming myself in your eyes, I’m going to tell you about Erebor now.”

“I’m not sure this is an auspicious time,” Legolas asserted. “I know I asked for this myself, but perhaps not when we are both scraped raw with emotion.”

“We can wait, if that’s what you really want,” Gimli conceded, “but I think now is the perfect time. We Durins have a mighty temper, so as I plan on actively holding back that anger to avoid further dishonoring myself, you would be wise to accept this window of opportunity.”

“Fair enough,” Legolas said, lips twitching. He methodically cleared the bottles of newfound import to Gimli and put away his equipment. He returned to the now-cleared table and sat upon it, folding his legs under him. Gimli rumbled in amusement, feeling like a primary school teacher conducting story time.

“Now,” Gimli began. “I’m not sure how much knowledge you have of Erebor—”

“Pretend I know nothing. I want to hear you tell of it.”

Gimli inclined his head and continued.

“Erebor was founded by my great-great-grandparents, the witch Marlowe Aubergine and the Dwarf Durin.”

“Do you not know his first name?”

“Dwarves do not have surnames, so subsequent generations simply took on his first name. Are you going to interrupt frequently?” Gimli asked.

“Forgive me, I was curious,” Legolas said. Gimli breathed in and out, waiting for equilibrium. It was to be a somewhat lengthy explanation.

“Now then, Erebor. Even with the more lenient mindsets of Dwarf and human relationships of the past, few witches and wizards were ready to accept such a strange pairing, so my ancestors took refuge in what is called The Lonely Mountain, an unplottable tract of land in the northernmost reaches of Norway, about thirty leagues north of Durmstrang. My ancestors were the first to settle there, but many families of varying Dwarvish origin soon came to build their homes and businesses there, some traveling as far as the Americas in search of a safe haven for their kind. I was too young to remember what Erebor looked like, but my father and family members have painted such a clear picture of it that I almost believe it to be true memory—a towering mountain with snow-capped peaks, homes built right into the edifice, leading on to rolling emerald hills and a sturdy town that worked those hills with glad and reverent hands.

“The town flourished through the years and grew to economic importance due largely to the mithril mines and the abundance of magical minerals used heavily in potion-making. Great spellwork was laid to protect its citizens from the harsh winters and unkind wizards alike and for one hundred and fourteen years, Erebor was our home.”

Gimli ground to a halt, lost in his imagined splendor of Erebor and yet always losing grasp of it, because that was where the story ended for him. Legolas waited patiently, his eyes large and perhaps trying to also picture Erebor.

“Then one day, the dragons came, just short of my second birthday,” Gimli told. “At first there were only three of them, Ukranian Ironbellies from the east. Most dragon breeds are far too territorial to form a pack, but this one was an exception. We thought at first we could handle them, and after killing one we were hopeful they would leave for easier land. But another came, then another. It was then, at our most desperate time of need, besieged by the winged raiders and fearing for our lives that we called upon Thranduil Greenleaf for aid.”

Legolas tensed like Gimli knew he would, but thankfully held his tongue, content for now to let Gimli finish.

“Thranduil said he could not spare a single dragon tamer and summarily told the population of Erebor to abandon the city. But Erebor was our home and we would not let it be overtaken. There was one last stand against the dragons, now numbering six. Many lives were taken in that battle. My grandfather was one of the first, but our family’s grief was nothing in comparison to that of the governing family and its sole remnant, Thorin Oakenshield.”

“He is the only one whose name I can clearly recall,” Legolas hedged, which Gimli took to mean that his entire recollection was likely negative.

“And for an understandable reason—he lost almost his entire family that day. He still can’t speak of it without going into a dark mindset or raging until he collapses in weariness. His grandfather, brother, sister and her husband fell that day, and that’s not all. A dragon slashed deeply into his father’s head and whatever it did there drove him steadily mad until he had to be sent to St. Mungo’s, permanently. The citizens of Erebor barely escaped with their lives and Thorin was now left alone to lead a broken people. Most eventually settled in other places, and our family mainly settled in Scotland.”

“That is a sad tale,” Legolas said. “I see now why you grow so angry when it is mentioned.”

Gimli paused a moment, just as his father often did upon telling, and continued as he likely would have done.

“Well, Thorin wasn’t _absolutely_ alone. The two surviving members of his family were Fíli and Kíli. Through an unknown strength of will, Thorin took on the burden of raising his nephews and treated them as he would his own sons. I think that gave him something to focus on besides his pain and anger, though he told me once that he still heard the sound of screaming and felt the heat of dragon fire on his skin.”

Legolas was silent with his head bent low. Gimli grew anxious as seconds ticked by, unsure of what Thranduil’s son would make of this tale. Slowly, Legolas lifted his head, expression troubled.

“I am afraid I have been told a wholly different tale, one that I am having trouble doubting.”

Gimli gritted his teeth, turning his head to look out over the grounds of Hogwarts instead of at Legolas and his imploring eyes.

“Will you not hear me out?” Legolas asked tentatively.

“Why not? I suppose he told you that we are all liars.”

“You dare—” Legolas choked back angry words, also looking anywhere but at Gimli. “If you would but listen, I will forgive you anything and let you throw punches, if you like. After all, wouldn’t you like to know exactly what I have been told of this event?”

Gimli considered his words. Yet more truces and promises. Would their every conversation be dominated by diplomacy, or could they one day speak freely and trusting? At the moment that felt as far from likely as Gimli could imagine, for he feared that they would soon be reduced to contemptible strangers yet again. Having decided, Gimli waved Legolas on.

“My father, as you know, is the owner of Mirkwood and is Europe’s top expert on dragons. Almost all dragon tamers are trained by his company and he lends his services to several governments. In 1979, at the height of Voldemort’s power, he received word of Erebor’s plight, but found himself unable to help. Voldemort compelled dragons to do his bidding, so no dragon tamers were available to send to Erebor. Thrór heard this and still he demanded that my father do something. Father offered to relocate the colony properly, once they safely left Erebor. It was not ideal, but there was little to be done. The citizens refused to leave, dooming many of them to a bitter end. Father accused them of not wanting to leave their riches behind, and blamed their stubbornness for their ruin.”

“Erebor was our _home_!” Gimli roared, springing to his feet. “Have you taken nothing from what I’ve told you? We defended it to the last. Your _father_ had a binding contract to send aid to Erebor should it come under attack!”

“Which would not hold if there were no tamers to be spared!”

“You’re telling me that out of the hundreds of dragon tamers across Europe, not _one_ could be spared? Did it ever occur to you that your father simply didn’t want to risk losing his personnel over a Dwarvish colony?”

Legolas placed his hands flat on the desk, leaning forward and curling his lip. “Now you’re accusing him of speciesism, he who is half-Veela. Did it ever occur to _you_ that your people could have left before losing so many lives over a piece of land?”

With a roar of finality, Gimli sprang at Legolas. They went tumbling to the floor in a heap of rage and potting soil. They scuffled briefly, though curiously neither of them took a swing or tried to inflict any real damage. Instead they tussled as two toddlers throwing tandem tantrums. Legolas’ elbow upset a table that held Puffapod plants and shook loose one of the pods. A scatter of beans rained down upon them and instantly bloomed on any surface they touched, which was mostly their hair.

They halted their movements, staring at the other with delicate pink flowers adorning his hair. Legolas was the first to break, tittering helplessly and near brokenly as he slumped to the floor with finality. Gimli did not quite feel like laughing, but neither did he feel like wringing Legolas’ neck. As they picked the blooms from their persons, the feeling of a storm passing came over Gimli, and for once he suspected that Legolas felt as he did.

“Here we are,” Gimli said quietly. “Continuing a bitter feud neither of us had anything to do with, fifteen years in the making.”

Legolas did not respond for several moments, lost in reverie.

“I like to think that my father really couldn’t spare anyone to help Erebor.”

Gimli frowned. “And I would cling to the belief that we really did fight for a home, and not for a bunch of minerals, no matter how precious.”

Legolas turned to Gimli with a determined light in his eyes, which Gimli found he’d greatly missed.

“All I know is that if it was I in my father’s place then, I would have come to Erebor myself to fight.”

Gimli’s lingering doubts melted away at the admission. _Thranduil_ might be the worst wizard to grace this green earth, but Legolas was wholly honorable. Perhaps it was time to let the grudges of their fathers go.

“You would not have had to, for I would have foregone pride and left before you could arrive.”

Legolas smiled in satisfaction, reclining against a table leg and sighing in contentment. Struck with an inspiration, Legolas reached into his cloak and pulled out his Walkman once more. He offered the metal ear muffs to Gimli.

“Would you care to sample some Muggle music?”

Gimli properly seated himself and placed the ear muffs over his ears. He gave Legolas a hearty thumbs up, wondering at what marvels he might hear. A bombastic racket abruptly assaulted his ears and he flung the ear muffs away, stunned.

“I think your machine has gone barmy.”

Legolas held one of the muffs to his ear and listened, shaking his head.

“It’s not! It’s just hip hop music.”

“Now you’re making things up.”

“I am not!” he chided. “This is Sir Mix-a-Lot.”

“What kind of name for a knight is that?”

Legolas’ peals of laughter could probably be heard back on the ship.


	5. Will Yule Be Mine?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was hard to write, possibly because the Yule Ball is my favorite part of the fourth book ("wangoballwime," amirite?) It's longer than the other chapters and includes a little Easter egg near the end. Enjoy!

A new problem presented itself to Gimli three days later when Kíli floated aboard the ship after dark.

“I’m going to the Yule Ball with Tauriel,” Kíli breathed, a ridiculous smile on his face as he all but collapsed on the upper deck and gazed rapturously up at the stars.

“You actually asked her?” Fíli asked, surprised.

Kíli shook his head slowly. “She asked _me_.”

Gimli grinned and sat near Kíli’s head, wordlessly thumping his shoulder in congratulations.

“Did you use a love potion?” Clara asked innocently, earning her a sharp elbow from Ingrid. Gimli frowned at the mention of those cursed things, but refused to ruin the good mood by calling her out on something he might have said himself just yesterday.

“Oh Merlin!” Kíli suddenly shouted, sitting up at breakneck speed. “I don’t have dress robes! I have to owl Uncle Thorin right now!”

He leapt to his feet, and careened toward the student quarters.

“Tell him to send me some too!” Fíli shouted after him. “And tell him not to let Bilbo pick them, because he’ll somehow work doilies into them!”

Kíli let out an incoherent bellow from below deck, which at least meant he’d heard. Fíli shook his head and shot Gimli a long-suffering look.

“Great, now with you two taking someone, I’ll have to find a date as well.”

“What do you mean, ‘you two’? I’m still going stag,” Gimli said.

“Hate to break it to you,” Lukas said loudly, amid the stifled giggles of the group, “but the champions are the ones that open the ball, thus you need a dance _partner_.”

Gimli had to work very hard not to visibly blanch at this revelation. Well, should be simple enough.

“Any of you ladies like to accompany a champion?” Gimli collectively asked Ingrid, Clara, and Johanna.

“Gee, as flattering as that invitation was,” Clara deadpanned, “we already have dates.”

“Already?” Gimli blurted in some shock.

“Please,” Ingrid scoffed, folding her arms, “We were done before December. Johanna is taking Poliakoff, I vas asked by a Hogwarts boy, and Clara stole a coveted Beauxbatons boy.”

Gimli felt an odd tightening in his chest. “It’s not Legolas, is it?”

Clara sighed wistfully before she answered. “When I went to ask, he was already turning down two girls and one boy, so it was more a token gesture at that point. No, I’m taking Laurent. He sensibly chose someone that’s not stuck up like those French tarts.”

Gimli felt distinctly relieved before he realized that Legolas had likely already chosen someone weeks ago. Well, at least Fíli was going to be in the market for a partner, so he was in good company. Gimli quickly did the math and realized that one other person was joining their stag party. He got to his feet and strode across the deck.

“You look grumpier than usual, so I’m guessing you haven’t asked Hermione yet,” Gimli said to Viktor by way of greeting. Viktor grunted in the affirmative and handed Gimli half a box of sugar mice he’d been morosely shoveling down. Gimli caught one as it was trying to escape the packaging and popped it squeaking into his mouth. It was a shame that a good man like this was doomed to loneliness, simply because he was a mite shy. The least Gimli could do was give him a little nudge in the right direction.

“Tell me, how do you feel about house-elves?”

***

The next morning, Gimli arrived at breakfast with a plan. The room had changed overnight into a winter wonderland. Twelve towering Christmas trees twinkled around the hall and enchanted snow lazily fluttered from the ceiling. With the exception of the poltergeist making up dirty lyrics from the innards of the caroling suits of armor, Hogwarts was quite impressive. His eyes stayed glued to the Gryffindor table until Hermione walked through the doors and seated herself and her ever-present bag of books. As he stood, Viktor grabbed his arm and tried in vain to drag Gimli back down.

“Gimli, this vill not work. I do not need a date—I can go stags with Fíli.”

“It’s just ‘stag’, and it’s not like I’m going to ask her _for_ you. I’m perfectly at liberty to talk to anyone I’d like, and she seems like a sparkling conversationalist. Now, finish your sausage and try not to look shifty.”

Gimli freed himself, rubbing his arm distractedly—Viktor Krum yanking on your arm was no small matter—and proceeded down the length of the hall. As he passed the Ravenclaw table, he slowed and searched for Legolas, snorting when he saw the idiot was missing again. Did he hunt and forage for his food in the forest?

He turned his attention to the Gryffindor table and cursed himself because Hermione was already gone. Did no one have any respect for breakfast? It was indecent. He left the hall and thankfully found Hermione ascending a staircase that wanted to be spiral steps today.

“Excuse me!” Gimli called out, pounding up the stairs. She turned haughtily with the air of a professor running late to her own class.

“Yes?” she inquired primly, blowing a tuft of hair out of her eye.

“You wouldn’t have nine of those S.P.E.W. badges on you at the moment?”

Her eyes widened in disbelief before narrowing in suspicion.

“What do you need nine badges for?” she asked warily. “You’re not going to do something to them, like enchant them to spell out something insulting?”

Gimli couldn’t imagine the campaign was going well, if that was her first assumption.

“‘Course not, that’s a mighty childish thing to do. I’ve thought on the matter and, though we might disagree on house-elves wanting to be freed, there’s still a good lot of house-elves that are treated terribly by their masters. There should at least be awareness of what’s going on so that there’s some protection for house-elves stuck with abusive owners. It’s like Viktor told me the other day—”

“Viktor? Viktor _Krum_?” Hermione asked with some surprise. “His family is a prominent pure-blood family and they own house-elves.”

Here was the brilliance in Gimli’s plan—he didn’t have to lie once.

“They treat _theirs_ decently, so Viktor has never had cause to think how others treat their house-elves. He said to me, ‘I am thinking wizards should be punished if they treat their house-elves badly.’”

Gimli prided himself on his Bulgarian accent. Hermione looked blown away and, dare Gimli say it, _fascinated_.

“Well, that’s certainly a start! I can tell you all sorts about the laws governing house-elves and the full socioeconomic oppression of their race—”

“I’m afraid I have no head for academia, but I can wear a badge. Viktor’s a great listener and can honestly stand to learn more about the issues.”

A fire lit in Hermione’s eyes, one that flickered to life at the promise of a project. He hoped he wasn’t going too far, but at least Viktor would soon decide if he really _did_ like Hermione or if an hour of house-elf liberation philosophy would put him off.

“Well, all right, they’re two sickles apiece, but I’m afraid you might have trouble recruiting,” she said, reaching into a side pocket of her shoulder bag. Gimli was surprised that they cost money, and he searched his pockets. Fate was on his side because he had one galleon tucked away in his cloak pocket. He handed it over and received nine newly-minted badges bearing the unfortunate acronym of ‘S.P.E.W.’ plus one sickle in change.

“Thank you, Ms. Granger. Good luck!”

She waved goodbye, beaming proudly.

***

As Gimli predicted, the moment Viktor pinned a badge to his chest, more badges began to sprout on the chests of his fans. By the end of the week, dozens of students were walking about with them. Even Hermione’s friend Ron was wearing one now where he hadn’t before.

This led to Viktor bursting into Gimli’s room one evening, Fíli and Kíli on his heels.

“SHE SAID YES!” Viktor shouted, pulling Gimli to his feet and spinning him around the room. He began to belt out what Gimli presumed was a Bulgarian love song, depositing Gimli on the bed and continuing to dance with Kíli.

“Oy, save some dance moves for the actual lady,” Fíli said, laughing as Viktor grabbed him and kept the dance going.

“Good on you, Krum,” Gimli congratulated, genuinely happy. He was also surprised at how Viktor was behaving. Sure, he tended to let his hair down when they’d been drinking for a few hours, but he looked entirely too sober for this much merriment.

“Gimli,” Viktor said deeply, letting Fíli go and going to his knees like he was about to start bowing to Gimli. “I thank you and am in your debt.”

“Oh, stop with that rubbish,” Gimli complained. “You’re the one who finally got up the nerve to ask her. You know who’s really to thank for all this.”

“Yes I do,” Viktor said solemnly before he clapped Gimli on the shoulder and said, “The house-elves! I am giving all our house-elves vacations. And paying them! And letting them use fine bed linens for their clothes!”

He looked ready to start singing again, and as Kíli was the only other lovelorn idiot on the ship, Gimli steered them both to the door and shut it as their voices faded away.

“Please tell me you’re not going to be as sickening as those two at the Yule Ball,” Fíli begged.

“Not going to be a problem,” Gimli swore, shaking his head. He added jokingly, “perhaps you’ll be my date?”

“You don’t haven't found one yet?” Fíli asked. “I asked someone the day I found out I needed one.”

Gimli gaped at him, floored at the ease with which Fíli sorted the matter.

Fíli shrugged. “Saw a pretty girl, asked her name, and now I’m taking Alicia Spinnet to the ball. If you don’t hurry up and ask, the good ones will be taken.”

“How can you even choose someone that easily? Just look over a crowd and pick without knowing who they are?” Gimli groused.

Fíli looked at Gimli sidelong. “You're a closet romantic, that’s what you are.”

“I just haven’t had the time,” Gimli insisted. “N.E.W.T. practice tests are coming up Monday and then I’ll have time to find a date.”

“Fine, deny all charges. But please find a dance partner so Karkaroff won’t have an excuse to punish you with more essays on anything even remotely connected to golden eggs.”

Gimli shrugged. “He doesn’t read them anyway. I copied a whole nursery rhyme about an egg in the middle section and he gave me high marks.”

***

Gimli dutifully spent the next morning perched on a large rock by the lake, perusing the students of Hogwarts. Herein was the problem with Fíli’s method: no one looked very appealing to him, simply because he didn’t know a single one of them. Perhaps Fíli was a bit right about him.

He popped in to the school proper for a sandwich and upon exiting was drawn to the Care of Magical Creatures lesson being assembled. The crates containing the Blast-Ended Skrewts were out and Hagrid was passing his students heavy bolts of rope. Sensing a prime entertainment venue, Gimli headed down the hill to the little hut and took up his usual position along the fence.

As he waited for the show to begin, he felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned to look and there was a tap on the opposite shoulder. Gimli spun around to see Legolas grinning cheekily. Gimli flicked his chest in retaliation, but he remained joyfully unmoved.

“I’ve heard Veela were an irascible race, not an impish one,” Gimli muttered.

“Lies and slander,” Legolas declared, joining Gimli as they both surveyed the class. “Oh dear, those ropes don’t look flame retardant.”

Hagrid was explaining the lesson to his horrified pupils. Far too soon he selected one of the Slytherin students to begin, that pale-faced twit Gimli often heard at mealtimes whinging about something or other. The boy looked at the crate, at an oblivious Hagrid, and finally at a rope that stood between him and death, and wisely put the pieces together.

“Are you mad?! One stray flame and I go up like kindling!”

“That’s the trick of it!” Hagrid boomed encouragingly, patting a crate. The crate shook and let out a snapping sound. “You have to lead them diagonally.”

The boy threw down his rope and retreated to the back of the group. The Gryffindors remarkably let his cowardice pass, mostly because even the bravest among them was not suicidal. The threat of getting a bad grade impelled Hermione go first and, when she survived, others tried their hand.

Gimli and Legolas felt sorry for them. Several were now being dragged along the ground and in danger of catching ablaze. They started yelling helpful encouragement from the sidelines, which included such sage advice as, ‘you’re a wizard, use your wand!’, ‘use the rope to pull yourself to your feet like you’re water skiing’, and ‘it’ll stop bleeding soon.’

Eventually, Gimli gave up on helping them, because his advice seemed to be making it worse. Instead he looked curiously at Legolas, a question burning in his mind.

“So, you have a date for the Yule Ball yet?” Gimli casually asked, thinking that if Legolas was partnered up too, then he was just going to start asking anyone who stood still long enough.

Legolas shook his head. “I _had_ planned on going with Tauriel, but that’s clearly ruined. I’ll probably end up taking the next decent person who asks, as I have no one I’m interested in.”

That shouldn’t have made Gimli as happy as it did, but it was nice to know that they were even in this regard.

“I find myself in a similar situation. It’s a week away, so I might have to break tradition and sit out for the opening dance.”

“I would have thought it would be easy for you. You hardly seem shy,” Legolas mused.

“Shy? No, just haven’t found anyone I want to ask yet.”

“Well, do as I do, and go with the next person to ask you.”

“I would, if an invite was offered.”

“No one has asked you?” Legolas blurted, a note of genuine surprise in his voice. Gimli smirked, imagining that Legolas wouldn’t understand that invitations didn’t fall from trees for most people.

“Not one. But, it’s still more traditional for the boy to ask the girl, so it’s expected.”

“Maybe you misinterpreted someone. I refuse to believe no one has asked you,” Legolas said in a miffed tone.

“Well, believe it,” Gimli said shortly, growing annoyed with his lack of understanding. Legolas’ head whipped in his direction, his eyes softening.

“I mean, they’re fools if they’re not interested,” Legolas corrected gently. A heavy warmth filled Gimli’s chest and he stared back at Legolas, wondering at how easily the praise came from someone who only days before had attempted to grind potting soil into his face.

“I suppose I can cash in on the fifteen minutes of dragon-defeating fame I have,” Gimli conceded, still staring at Legolas even when he turned away to watch a girl being dragged through the snow before them.

“Perhaps it’s already working,” Legolas said thoughtfully. “A few of the girls are headed your way.”

Gimli turned to see that Legolas was half-right; a gathering of four Slytherin witches were certainly walking in their direction.

“They’re coming for _you_ ,” Gimli insisted, amused. “No accounting for taste, but they can’t be entirely blamed for that.”

“I don’t think so,” Legolas said.

The girls were whispering amongst themselves and pushing one of their numbers to the front. Gimli recognized her as the pug-faced girl he often saw with the pale-faced twit. She marched right up to the fence and stuck her chin in the air haughtily. To his surprise, she addressed Gimli.

“Fancy going to Yule Ball with me?” she asked boldly. It was less a question than it was a demand. Gimli floundered a moment, because he didn’t even know her name and she seemed like the kind of person he generally avoided.

“Oy, Parkinson!” a voice rang out. The three girls turned as one to face Harry’s friend Ron, who was ignoring the warning touch of Hermione’s hand on his arm. “You do realize he’s part dwarf, right?”

Gimli was again struck dumb, shocked that a friend of Harry’s would be that blatantly bigoted. Before he could summon any anger, Legolas was touching his shoulder and speaking in a low voice.

“I know his family, don’t worry.”

Ms. Parkinson sneered at Ron.

“It’s none of your business, Weasley.”

“So it’s okay to hate anyone who isn’t a pure-blood, but you’ll make an exception since he’s winning the tournament?”

“I hate _you_ , so there’s a pure-blood exception,” she shot back.

“Besides,” a rich drawl interceded. Gimli frowned as the pale-faced boy slid from behind his two hulking goons. “It’s not so much about blood as it is about blood _loyalty_. Why do you think Durmstrang took his family in the first place? Even You-Know-Who was a half-Blood. At least half-breeds are still part of the wizarding world, not like the Muggle-born.”

“Sod off, Malfoy,” spat Harry with more hatred than Gimli would have expected the young boy to be capable of. “Cedric’s a pure-Blood, and two half-Breeds and one half-Blood are beating him. Don’t let Hermione hear you call her less than a proper witch, or she’ll slap you 'round the face again.”

“But that’s just it, Potter,” Malfoy said smugly. “They’re _unstable_. Muggles break wands and are envious of our power, and the Muggleborn and blood traitors treat them like benign children. Half-breeds are by far preferable, even if one hardly wants to picture a proper witch or wizard resorting to bestiality for kicks…”

Harry and Ron made a lunge for Malfoy. Soon students from both Hogwarts houses were getting in on the fray while Gimli and Legolas watched from the sidelines. Gimli was oddly touched by Harry and Ron’s defense of him. He itched to join in and teach that Malfoy brat a lesson, but he reigned in his temper and reminded himself that this was what even the most well-meaning witch or wizard whispered behind his back, and he had to admit that even he sometimes wondered whether his great-grandparents were highly experimental in their sex lives or if love really was strong enough to blur certain lines.

“My grandmother would have pecked his eyes out and he would have enjoyed it,” Legolas observed calmly. Gimli shook his head and snickered at the image, immensely glad that Legolas was here and distracting Gimli from his dark thoughts.

“Well, in light of all this, I think I’ll just have to find my own partner.”

***

Gimli had given up all hope. It was three days before the Yule Ball and he still had no dance partner. He’d tried asking a couple of nice-looking seventh year girls, but they were unsurprisingly taken. He was working out if he could pay someone to dance with him without it being taken as an insult when Ingrid popped up behind him at dinner.

“You find partner yet?” she asked.

“Would I look so stressed if I did?” Gimli replied, perking up because maybe she knew someone who would go with him.

“All right, you are going vith me.”

Gimli blinked at her. “I thought you were going with a Hogwarts boy.”

“I vas until Roger Davies called me ‘ _exotic’_ and let me know how jealous his friends vould be of me.”

“That’ll do it,” Gimli said conclusively, understanding that Mr. Davies had likely endured the wrath of a Valkyrie and almost pitied him. Almost, because he deserved it and Gimli now had proper company for the ball.

Christmas morning arrived in short order. Karkaroff—to no one’s surprise—had forbidden them from erecting a Christmas tree in the cabin they used as a makeshift common room, so Gimli, Fíli, and Kíli decided to use Gimli’s golden egg as a merry little tree, given that it refused to help on more important matters. It stood there proudly on Christmas morning, a holly wreath adorning the top and a shrunken tree skirt bearing their neat stacks of presents.

Fíli and Kíli barreled into Gimli’s room at the crack of dawn and soon the happy sounds of paper being ripped apart filled the air. Gimli marveled at the new axe his parents had given him with a dragon engraved on the handle. He took it as a sign that his father was seeing reason and would take Gimli with them to Erebor after all.

Kíli, meanwhile, honed in on Thorin’s gifts. The first was an expensive-looking pair of omnioculars, which Kíli carelessly tossed to the ground before he unwrapped a second parcel that seemed to contain clothing.

“What in the bloody hell are these?” Kíli wailed, holding up the offending garments. Fíli walked over and held up a twin set next to his brother’s.

“Did no one tell Uncle that a Yule Ball isn’t a battlefield?” Fíli asked rhetorically.

Gimli couldn’t hold back his laughter as he realized that these were to be their dress robes. They were made of heavy wool and supple leather, accented with metal embellishments and matching cloaks bearing fur necklines.

“My first date with Tauriel, and I’m going to look like a war general. She’ll never speak to me again,” Kíli lamented, slumping to the floor in dismay. Fíli tried to look encouraging, but even he couldn’t pass the robes off as acceptable.

“Cheer up. Look here, Bilbo sent us presents!”

Indeed, Bilbo had sent them each a gift basket of homemade cakes and cookies. He’d even remembered Gimli, tucking away a score of mince pies into a new sweater he’d kindly knitted for him.

“Oh, bless that little sneak,” Fíli breathed devoutly, shucking the paper off another box. “Kíli, open the snowman one, now.”

Kíli did so and smiled like the sun rising. Bilbo had evidently seen what Thorin had sent his nephews and secreted proper dress robes for the boys.

“He’s the best almost-uncle ever,” Kíli enthused, happily stroking the fine black satin, completely free of leather or fur.

The rest of the day was spent lazing about the ship, showing off their presents and hiding the spiked egg nog from Karkaroff. All too soon it was time to get dressed for the ball. Gimli sat silent in his red and gold robes, looking over the presents he had yet to properly put away, and couldn’t help thinking that he’d missed someone. It was absurd to think that, because there were plenty of fine people he’d met recently that deserved a Christmas gift, but only one was giving him a crisis of conscience. Madness, it was. Legolas was rich and certainly didn’t need any more material possessions. They weren’t even friends, were they? Besides it was Christmas day, which meant zero shopping days left.

He hated himself just a little bit when he snatched an item form his trunk and left for the ball.

***

Gimli hadn’t thought Hogwarts could get any more festive than it already was, but he was mistaken. As he and his classmates approached the castle, Karkaroff imperiously leading the way, Gimli marveled at the change of the entrance into a garden lit with hundreds of living fairies. As they passed along the garden path and he could finally see everyone's outfits properly, Gimli thought it was a novel experience seeing people he had gone to school with for years looking smart in their dress robes. He admired Ingrid’s amethyst dress in particular, though the high heels were worrisome. They made her even taller than usual and, though Gimli had no problem with a lady towering over him, he didn’t think his dancing skills were up to the challenge this presented.

The oak front doors opened and they entered into a milling crowd of Hogwarts students. As if they had been waiting just for them, Professor McGonagall called for the champions to come to the front. Ingrid took Gimli by the arm and steered him through the parting students, flashing a grin at everyone she passed.

Legolas and his date were waiting by the doors. Gimli was taken aback by the sight, for two reasons. First of all, Legolas was not wearing his usual green or even the powder blue of his school uniform—instead, his robes were silver and probably cost more than a Firebolt. Second, the girl he was with appeared much younger than Gimli would have expected. She was blonde as well, and wore peacock-inspired dress robes with sharp blues, purples, and greens, set off with decorative plumage woven into her hair. They made quite a stunning pair

The girl was saying something to Legolas as they approached, and Gimli frowned as Legolas let out a pleased chuckle. It seemed he was genuinely enjoying her company. Legolas finally noticed they weren’t alone and turned to Gimli with laughter still in his eyes.

“You clean up well,” Legolas told him, and said to Ingrid, “you look only slightly more beautiful than usual.”

Ingrid, who unabashedly knew this to be true, preened and gracefully accepted the compliment.

“It’s good to meet you, Gimli Durin,” Legolas’ girl said in a dreamy, faraway voice. “I’m Luna Lovegood. I do hope they serve pudding tonight.”

Gimli tried not to look as dumbfounded as he so obviously was, so he managed an even, “My pleasure entirely, Ms. Lovegood.”

By then Cedric and Harry had arrived with their dates, each of them beautiful as well. Gimli felt fleetingly self-conscious, because he remembered Ingrid mentioning that the Goblet of Fire chose champions based on how they looked in newspaper spreads. Everyone except him looked like they had sprung right from a fashion magazine. Oh, he wasn’t ugly and his mother would have his head if he’d said so, but he wasn’t Witch Weekly material and he was feeling rather out of place.

Too soon, they were told to arrange themselves into two lines and the doors to the hall were opened. The walls had been covered in sparkling silver frost and garlands of mistletoe and ivy crossed the starry ceiling. The house tables were gone and in their place were about a hundred smaller ones lit with lanterns. Ingrid was enjoying herself immensely, holding Gimli’s arm companionably and strutting past the tables head held high. Gimli swore that she gave the Parkinson girl a wicked look, because she looked far too innocent when Gimli caught sight of her face again.

They reached the large table for the champions and judges. Gimli was seated next to Luna Lovegood, which was not ideal.

“The Great Hall is rather beautiful tonight, isn’t it?” she said, gazing vaguely at the ceiling.

Normally this would be enough for Gimli to start a robust conversation, but instead he hummed a sort of agreement and examined the small menu standing his golden plate. He was just wondering how they were going to be served when Dumbledore clearly said “pork chops” to his plate and lo, they appeared. Gimli ordered a steak and baked potato and smiled at Legolas’ soup and salad.

“I was hoping they’d have pudding,” Luna happily enthused to Legolas, picking up her spoon and trying it. Legolas regarded the dotty girl as if she were the best thing in the entire hall. Gimli grabbed his fork and tucked in, giving the conversations around him half an ear as he inspected the other tables.

He soon spotted Kíli two tables over, ignoring his plate of food and listening to Tauriel talk. If Kíli and her were to become a couple, then Kíli was going to be thin as a rail. Fíli and the Weasley twins were at the same table, juggling and throwing dinner rolls animatedly which brought Professor McGonagall descending upon their table. Krum was with Hermione, who looked quite lovely tonight in periwinkle robes. Interestingly, Krum was the exact opposite of Kíli and was waffling on about something or other.

Ingrid elbowed Gimli. “You are being terrible date,” she sniffed, though not with any real resentment.

“Sorry. Bit nervous about the dancing coming up. You’ll have to forgive me if I step on your toes.”

“No vonder you almost came alone,” she said playfully, reaching over to straighten Gimli’s collar. Gimli smiled warmly at the action, which was reminiscent of his mother.

When everyone seemed to be done eating, Dumbledore stood and asked everyone to do the same. The reason why was evident when he flicked his wand and sent the tables to the back wall, clearing the floor. He then raised a platform and introduced the Weird Sisters. Gimli had heard the rumors of them appearing, but it was still surprising to see such a famous band here at a school of all things. He clapped just as loudly as everyone else, and he turned to Legolas in curiosity, remembering his spiel on wizarding radio. It appeared that Legolas was just an enamored with wizard bands as Muggle ones, because his entire face was awestruck and he was babbling about his favorite songs to Luna.

All too soon the lanterns were put out and it was time for the champions to start dancing. The Weird Sisters thankfully struck up a slow, mournful waltz, which was a dance Gimli had knowledge of. Ingrid was a far superior dancer and some of that filtered over to Gimli, because not only did he not step on Ingrid’s feet, but he thought he might look a bit dignified out here.

Cedric and his date moved along just fine, but poor Harry looked completely out of his element. His somewhat embarrassed date was leading, trooping Harry in a determined circle. Legolas and Luna, however, were on another plane of existence. They moved as if they were two figurines from a curio cabinet that had been transfigured to life. They were creating quite a stir as well. Several students were craning their necks forward, and at least one had half-risen out of her chair. Gimli remembered that Veelas could seduce men with their dancing, and it seemed that even a quarter Veela was capable of that. Gimli was not unmoved himself.

They were obscured from sight, however, as more couples joined the champions and filled the floor. Viktor was still talking to Hermione, his usual surly expression gone. Kíli and Tauriel swung into view, and Gimli was glad to see that Kíli had remembered how to speak. Tauriel was wearing forest green robes and, unlike Ingrid, had chosen very low heels, making her only a little taller than Kíli. They made a nice couple.

The waltz ended and Ingrid bent to give Gimli a peck on the cheek.

“My shoes live to see another day,” she announced, smiling.

“Well, that’s fine to hear,” Gimli said. “You can find someone else to dance with if you like now.”

Ingrid looked offended. “You are not getting avay after one dance, Gimli Durin. Ve look good together, yes? My shoes are strong as dragonhide.”

Gimli laughed helplessly, moving with her to a faster beat. They danced song after song, Ingrid keeping him entertained by talking about everyone at Hogwarts. Ingrid had a talent for names and faces, and Gimli had no doubt that she not only knew the names of everyone in the castle, but also the best gossip.

“Another, another,” Ingrid cajoled.

“All right, that one over by the punch bowl.”

“That is Cormac McLaggen. Father is high up in the ministry, so he thinks he is better than everyone else. Come on, that vas too easy.”

Gimli looked around the room and caught sight of Luna sitting with a young red-haired girl and Neville from the greenhouse. Legolas had probably gone to fetch her some punch.

“What do you know about Luna Lovegood?” Gimli asked evenly.

Ingrid’s eyebrows furrowed. “Enough to vonder why Legolas vould take her. She is a third year student and her father publishes that silly tabloid _The Quibbler_. Worse, she believes all that is printed in it. She vears raddish earrings and talks to valls. Certifiable, I am told.”

“Still, she’s pretty enough and maybe those are just nasty rumors.”

“Maybe,” Ingrid said doubtfully. She looked to Luna then at Gimli, face thoughtful. “You look jealous.”

“Jealous? Of her?” Gimli repeated, nonplussed. “I don’t know her and I think the rumors might be spot on about her mental health. Still, don’t you wonder why Legolas Greenleaf would pick her over anyone else?”

Ingrid shrugged. “A joke?”

“That’s not really like him,” Gimli murmured, still trying to work out where Legolas had gone because he wasn’t by the punch bowl or his date. It was getting late, so perhaps he had left for the evening.

“I think I am understanding something,” Ingrid said quietly, a smirk tugging at her lips. She stopped dancing and kissed Gimli again on the cheek. “I haff had enough for one night. It vas a nice evening, Gimli.”

“Let me walk you back to the ship—”

“I know the vay. You stay, have punch.”

She departed immediately, waving over her shoulder. Gimli felt like he’d been ditched.

“She’s quite lovely,” Legolas said an inch from Gimli’s ear, badly startling him.

“Stop sneaking up on me like that or I’m going to permanently glue bells to your braids,” Gimli spluttered at an unapologetic Legolas. “Where’s your girl?”

“With her friends,” Legolas said matter-of-factly, appearing unsure why Gimli would ask. “I thought, if you’re not doing anything, we can hang out somewhere.”

Gimli thought it over. The ball was winding down. Kíli had gone out to the gardens with Tauriel an hour ago and had yet to return. Fíli was doing a sort of tango with Alicia, who had tears in her eyes from laughing so hard. Poliakoff was playing a card game with Lukas while Johanna danced with someone who was hopefully not a professor and Clara was nowhere in sight. Viktor was by the punch bowl and Hermione was arguing with Ron, which looked interesting enough to stay and witness.

“You’re not taking me to the forest at night, are you?” Gimli asked, which was the one place he might have said no to visiting.

“Not the forest, somewhere else. A surprise.”

“Well, so long as I won’t have to fight my way out of it, lead the way.”

***

The destination turned out to be the clock tower. Legolas took a small drawstring bag out of his pocket and from it pulled item after item, enough for a makeshift picnic of warm blankets, candles, sweets, and to Gimli’s secret delight, a larger version of Legolas’ Walkman Radio. After they arranged everything and set some candles floating about them, Gimli inspected the radio with keen interest.

Legolas patted it like a proud parent. “Tauriel gave me large Batteries for Christmas. I’ve spent all day learning how to work it. Apparently this one is called a Boombox Radio.”

“It’s a fine contraption,” Gimli praised, running a hand over its bright yellow faceplate and large black speakers.

“I already know how to record songs from live radio, which of course I can’t do at Hogwarts or back at Beauxbatons, but see here? It has two Tape Decks so I can copy songs from one Cassette to another Cassette.”

Gimli raised his eyebrows. “Why on Earth would you want to do that if you already have the song?”

Legolas popped open one of the Tape Decks and pulled out a Cassette. He hesitated a moment before he ceremoniously handed the plastic square to Gimli. Gimli took it and was surprised to see his own name written on a strip of white tape.

“‘[Gimli’s Mix](http://8tracks.com/bigmamag/gimli-s-mix-side-a/)’,” Gimli read aloud.

“It’s only half done because I didn’t have time to record on the other side of the Cassette and I wanted to give it to you tonight. Merry Christmas.”

Gimli was speechless. The thing could contain nothing but that knight rap he’d heard before and he’d still think it was a great gift. He chuckled, reaching into his coat.

“Well, it seems our minds think alike, shocking though that may be for my sensibilities.”

Legolas leaned forward with catlike interest, his hair brushing the side of Gimli’s face. Gimli showed Legolas the small token he’d taken from his trunk earlier. Legolas half squinted at it, reaching forward to take it. Gimli held it just out of reach.

“Hold out your wrist,” he commanded. Legolas did so, cautiously. He jumped when Gimli slapped his wrist with it, his expression quite vexed until he saw what it had done.

“What is it?” he asked wonderingly, turning his wrist over where the neon green and purple plastic encircled it.

“It’s called a slap bracelet. One of my neighbor’s parents is a Muggle and his son got our whole street into these things. Here, have another.”

Gimli pulled out the pack of five he’d brought and slapped a yellow and orange one on Legolas’ other wrist. Gimli looked at the proud and majestic part-Veela with his golden hair and immaculate silver robes as he touched his two garishly decorated wrists together and smiled at them like they were made of silver.

“These are brilliant. Can I give one to Tauriel?”

Gimli waved his hand. “They’re yours to do with as you please. Now, let’s get some of that Muggle music playing.”

Legolas carefully slotted the Cassette in, but apparently had inserted it wrong and had to pull it out and turn it. Finally, music began to play, and Gimli found it far more pleasing than what he’d heard before, mostly because it was not pressed right against his ears. Or maybe because this was _his_ Cassette.

Legolas added two more bracelets to each of his wrists before he joined Gimli in eating candy. The clock struck midnight, heralding the end of Christmas. Legolas apparently had a sweet tooth, gorging on chocolate and peppermint until he finally slowed down and selected a simple candy cane.

“I’m starting to see why you never eat at proper mealtimes—you’re ashamed of your dietary habits.”

“I don’t eat at proper mealtimes because Hogwarts’ food is mostly made up of meat.”

“Knew you were a weed eater,” Gimli teased. “You go out in the forest and graze, then?”

Legolas pursed his lips, falsely indignant. “Honestly, I just forget to eat sometimes and I’m far too used to Beauxbatons’ cuisine.”

“I eat just fine no matter where I go. I think you’re just a fussy eater.”

“Probably,” he agreed easily, smiling. “I think Luna’s worse than I am. I mean, pudding for dinner? I do hope she ate properly the rest of the day.”

Gimli’s mood soured a little at her mention, though he didn’t quite know why. Maybe it was because it made so little sense and Gimli hated mysteries.

“So, Luna Lovegood. Was she the lucky one who asked you next?”

“Actually, I asked her,” Legolas said breezily, popping the shaft of the candy cane into his mouth.

“Oh, so it’s like that?” said Gimli, though he feared his voice wasn’t as light as he’d meant it to be. Legolas merely looked at Gimli in polite confusion.

“Like what?” he asked.

Gimli wondered if he would have to wolf whistle to drive his point home. Finally, Legolas’ eyes widened in realization.

“There’s nothing romantic between Luna and I!” he denied incredulously. “She’s four years younger than me and I’ve known her about a week!”

This was so against Gimli’s current worldview that he could only gape at Legolas. Legolas rolled his eyes dramatically.

“I suppose you need an explanation, daft bastard you are,” he grumbled, crossing his arms.

“Hey now, where’s that aristocratic cadence gone?”

“I’m too cold and too fed up with your silly notions to care. It’s a simple matter—she’s my friend and she told me she wished she could come to the ball, but those below fourth year have to have a date in order to go, so it was an easy solution. _Your_ choice of partner is far more interesting.”

“How so?” Gimli asked.

“You told me the Durmstrang girls were taken. She finally saw reason and chose you?”

“In a manner of speaking,” Gimli said. She had indeed saw reason, at least when it came to taking Roger Davies. Legolas sucked on his candy cane quietly, a strange hardness shadowing his eyes.

“Is it ‘like that’ with you two?”

“Ingrid and me? Were you dropped on your head as a child?”

“She appeared interested in you,” Legolas defended himself.

“You were the one gawping at Luna Lovegood like she’d hung the moon! I was just trying not to squash Ingrid’s poor feet all evening.”

“I didn’t gawp. I mean, yes, I like her a lot. You don’t see too many people who honestly don’t give a damn what anyone thinks, but I’m not the one who was dancing the night away with their date and holding hands and kissing.”

The sheer ridiculousness of that statement sent Gimli to new heights of exasperation and, finding no outlet for his feelings, he leapt over to Legolas and pulled his blanket over his head, attempting to smother him with it. Legolas was squirming against Gimli, struggling helplessly until Gimli finally let him up. Legolas’ hair was a right mess, his braids having been ruined.

“Ingrid,” Gimli declared, “is a beautiful woman, but a terrifying one as well. I would have had to take out an insurance policy to date her, and she would stand my tomfoolery for an hour before chucking me. _Kissing_ , honestly. A kiss on the cheek is never romantic. You should know that, you go to school with cheek-kissing Frenchmen.”

“Oh? Then you won’t mind…” he trailed off and Gimli had about two seconds to wonder why when Legolas leaned over and kissed Gimli soundly on the cheek, the smell of peppermint following in its wake. Gimli slapped him away, and Legolas was laughing so hard that he had to lie flat on the ground to do it.

“I am never letting you get me anywhere alone again,” Gimli decided. “I don’t think your intentions are honorable.”

Legolas was still laughing, so damned proud of himself. “Ah ah, you said a kiss on the cheek is never romantic.”

“Doesn’t mean I want any old person doing it!” Gimli complained. “That’s it, now you owe me something.”

“Gimli!” Legolas exclaimed, holding a hand to his chest. “I am not that kind of boy.”

“Oh, shut it,” Gimli growled, though he had to honestly fight not to start laughing with him. “I meant you owe me an explanation. If you’re not seeing Luna, then tell me how you became friends so fast.”

Legolas swiftly righted himself and cast about for his fallen candy cane. He found it near the Boombox Radio and put it in his mouth, almost as a ritual to comfort himself.

“I came across her in the forest a few days ago and we bonded over the fact that we both saw thestrals.”

“There’s thestrals at Hogwarts?” Gimli interrupted.

“An entire herd,” he affirmed. “They were there when the acromantulas attacked us about a month ago. They stood no more than ten paces away before they fled the scene, so I knew then that you didn’t see them.”

“Doesn’t mean I wouldn’t like to touch one!” Gimli groused, thinking of the missed opportunity. He didn’t want to experience the loss needed to see Threstrels, but it would still be something to feel their leathery hide and perhaps feed the invisible equines some beef.

“I’ll take you to them some time,” Legolas promised, a smile tugging at his lips. “Not many people think they’re that great. The ones at Hogwarts are tame, but they can be vicious creatures when provoked.”

“A squirrel will do the same, but that’s neither here nor there.” Gimli lowered his voice, something else occurring to him. “So, you see Threstrels?”

The humor left Legolas’ face, and Gimli was sorry that he’d made it go away.

“My mother,” he answered softly. “I was six. Werewolf attack.”

“I’m sorry,” Gimli whispered. “You don’t have to talk about it.”

Legolas sat still a long while, looking out through the glass of the clock over the grounds of Hogwarts and beyond. Then, with a seemingly tremendous effort, he shook himself out of his reverie and dredged up a wan smile.

“I’ll talk about it one day. For now, let’s just sit here and wonder how many of our fellow students have gotten off in the rosebushes tonight.”

Gimli snorted and followed it with a chuckle. “At least a few dozen. I think Clara made off with one of your Beauxbatons’ lot.”

“Laurent,” Legolas mused. “I hope she knows he still sleeps with his blankie.”

“Hey now, no gossiping here. I’ve had enough of that from Ingrid all evening.”

Legolas sharply turned his head, a contemplative look on his face. “I still think Ingrid likes you. You should pursue it.”

“Don’t have the time,” Gimli said lightly. “Too busy being whisked away to keep irritating, weed-eating friends company.”

“Is that what we are?” Legolas asked sharply. “Friends?”

Gimli hadn’t meant to use that word, but it felt right and Legolas looked as if he liked it as well. Gimli shrugged, feigning a casualness that fooled neither of them.

“Better start calling it that, because otherwise I keep doing daft things for no reason.”

Legolas’ mouth worked like he wanted to smile but was refusing to give himself away. Instead he went back to working on his steadily disappearing candy cane, letting the good feeling settle between them. So, they were friends. Everyone in his family was going to have kittens over this, but that seemed less a concern now that he himself knew where he was on the matter. Legolas Greenleaf was his _friend,_ so they can all shut their gobs and accept it. He could see Legolas whenever he wanted now, because they were friends and that’s what friends did. In fact, he might even see Legolas tomorrow and meet a thestral.

“Did you want one?” Legolas asked loudly, shaking Gimli from his thoughts. Legolas was proffering a newly wrapped candy cane to Gimli. “You keep staring at mine.”

Gimli shook his head, a giddy happiness flowing through him.

“You know, I think I know your dreadful secret.

Legolas paused with the cane poised ridiculously in his mouth. “Oh?”

“Yes. The evidence is clear. Pointy ears. Wears green. Eats candy nonstop. Mischievous. Gives gifts. You, sir, are one of Santa’s elves.”


	6. Dinner for Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The indomitable [flukeoffate](http://flukeoffateart.tumblr.com) drew this universe's [Legolas and Gimli](http://flukeoffate.deviantart.com/art/Legolas-and-Gimli-Triwizard-Champions-488350172)! I'm excited to get one kudos let alone artwork, so each and every one of you guys are incredible. :D

Gimli stayed with Legolas until after three in the morning, listening to the same ten songs over and over until he could sing parts of them himself. He returned to the ship without incident and collapsed into bed, grateful that it was still the holidays and he could sleep in.

Unfortunately, he didn’t count on being woken by two irritated-looking cousins glaring down at him. Gimli sat up in bed, wincing as he stretched muscles sore from sitting on a hard floor half the night and his dress robes pulled uncomfortably across his skin. He didn’t have to wait long for an explanation.

“Saw you leave with Legolas Greenleaf last night,” Fíli said casually, though his eyes looked anything but. “No chance you hexed his ears off and locked him in a dungeon?”

Gimli groaned. It was entirely too early for an interrogation. He went to sit on the side of the bed furthest from his cousins, but they only stomped around it and rallied before him.

“It’s actually worse than we’ve thought, isn’t it?” said Kíli despairingly. Fíli nodded unhappily and, quick as a kneazle, snatched Gimli’s Christmas present from his front pocket. He handed it to Kíli, whose eyes widened to cartoonish proportions. “‘Gilmi’s Mix?’ What in Durin’s name is a ‘Mix?’ Oh my god, you’re sleeping with him.”

“What?!” Gimli shouted, never having injected one word with so much bewilderment in his life.

“Kíli, put the plastic box down and breathe,” Fíli told his brother. Kíli obeyed, flopping despondently into Gimli’s desk chair. “You told me not two weeks ago that there was nothing friendly going on with you two. Does that still stand or is the plastic box some kind of weird Christmas present?”

Gimli sighed heavily. Here it was, the moment of truth, yet he felt oddly fine with it. He wasn’t about to lie to his cousins, nor was he going to chuck Legolas to appease them.

“He’s my friend.”

“That’s even _worse!_ ” Kíli moaned. “I mean, shagging the competition is one thing—”

“Please, stop,” Gimli begged, haunted by the very suggestion.

“—one could argue it’s a tactic to throw him off his game. But being his _friend_? What in the hell do you two even have in common?”

“Killing irritating things,” Gimli said darkly.

“You’re turning red,” Fíli informed Kíli, though he wasn’t doing much better, burying his face in one hand while the other was perched imperiously on one hip.

“Too right I am!” Kíli exclaimed, jabbing a finger in Gimli’s general direction. “He’s mucking up things with Tauriel!”

“Excuse me?” Gimli interjected, genuinely baffled at this point. “How does this have anything to do with you and Tauriel?”

“Simple,” Kíli explained. “It’s bad enough that Tauriel is friends with Legolas. I thought to myself, if I ever bring her home to Uncle Thorin and he finds out, then he’s going to get all scary and yell at me. I mean, of course I’ll stick by her and tell Uncle to deal with it,” he added, sticking his chin in the air bravely, “but it’ll be terrifying for a while, and I’d have to convince him that I’m in no way tied to her choice in friends. But when he finds out that _you’re_ Legolas’ friend too? He’ll think it’s a conspiracy and ship us both off to St. Mungo’s. I mean, you’re the sensible one!”

“It’s okay, really,” Fíli consoled his brother. “Glóin is going to kill Gimli before that happens and no one will even notice your indiscretion.”

“He won’t kill me,” Gimli said, though privately he wouldn’t place bets on that.

“Disown you, then. Forget taking you to Erebor—he might not let you come home at all.”

“Mum would talk him down,” Gimli assured not even himself. “Besides, you two aren’t going to tell him, are you?”

“Do you _know_ what Uncle Thorin’s like when he’s angry? Your Dad would obviously firecall every damn member of the family to yell about it the moment he found out, so no, not until I’m certain Uncle likes Tauriel enough to let it slide.”

“I appreciate your discretion,” Gimli deadpanned.

“But honestly, Gimli,” Fíli said, turning serious and almost sympathetic. “What are you thinking? You know his father, and you know _our_ fathers. Is it really worth all the trouble this is going to bring you?”

Gimli sighed again, standing up from the bed and taking off his outer robes. It gave him a moment to think it over, though he’d been doing that enough for the past couple of months that it was more a last-ditch sanity check. He felt something strange on his chest, and looked down to find a stray circle of peppermint clinging there. Gimli pulled it off with a grin, and answered Fíli.

“Aye, I know his father. I also know my father. I know the bad blood shared between an entire lost mountain and Thranduil Greenleaf. But you don’t know _Legolas_. Tauriel does,” Gimli added, eyeing Kíli pointedly. “I’m not asking you to like it or even understand it, but I _am_ asking you to deal with it.”

Fíli and Kíli were silent for a moment. Kíli looked to his older brother for direction. Fíli shook his head, a small smile playing at his lips.

“And here I thought this trip was going to be relaxing.”

***

Gimli didn’t see Legolas that day or the next, mostly to prove to his cousins that he hadn’t gone completely off the rails. Finally he threw caution to the wind and asked Legolas if he wanted to go to the forest. Legolas agreed and thus they had themselves a standing arrangement.

They never spent long in the forest because it was winter and there was only so much a warming charm could comfortably do in this weather, but in the hour or two they did spend there each day, Gimli began to learn things about Legolas: he hated winter, loved summer. His worst subject was Transfiguration, likely because he’d once transfigured his left big toe into a goldfish. He had no plans for the future except maybe to visit the Muggle world. He spoke a great deal of French because of Beauxbatons, Dutch because he lived in the Netherlands, and a touch of Spanish and Italian for the simple reason that he often visited those countries and had picked it up.

In fact, most of his stories were set in foreign countries and in those countries at various social events. This led Gimli to start observing Legolas in a more nuanced way, and he began to see why Legolas so valued his privacy. _Everyone_ wanted to be around Legolas. His own classmates held themselves back because they were used to Legolas, but the students and even the professors at Hogwarts were always flagging him down to talk while others hovered close to swoop in when the other left. Gimli figured it was partly the Veela thing, but also a mix of having a famous father and becoming famous himself as a Triwizard champion. What Gimli had once thought was snobbish indifference to all the attention he received was actually a forced politeness and a great deal of internal screaming.

In light of that, Gimli felt honored that Legolas actively chose to spend his time with Gimli, so he told Legolas things about himself that he’d normally wait longer to impart, such as his irrational hatred of bowtruckles (he’d plucked a leaf off a bowtruckle’s tree as a child and had nightmares of long spindly fingers scratching him for months.) He thought Legolas led a much more interesting life, traversing Europe during summer break while Gimli spent _his_ summers in the same little fishing cabin by the lake. Legolas, for some reason, pressed Gimli into telling him more and more about himself, convinced that Gimli was equally (if not more) interesting than he was. Gimli shrugged, thinking to each his own, and recounted the time he’d set his Uncle Óin’s beard on fire.

The first day of Hogwarts’ second term, Gimli decided that it was high time that the most important people in his life learned to stay within ten meters of each other, so he talked Fíli and Kíli into sitting in on Hagrid’s lesson with Gimli and Legolas. It took him the entire lunch hour to accomplish the feat, and they only agreed when Gimli let them bring a neutral party. They chose two, claiming that they each needed one, and so Gimli, Fíli, Kíli, Clara, and Johanna all trooped down to Hagrid’s hut at least twenty minutes late.

The first thing Gimli noticed was that the class was positioned at the edge of the forest today. Gimli hoped that Hagrid hadn’t moved the Skrewts there, as they’d likely burn the entire forest down. But then a flash of white caught his eye and Gimli was rendered speechless as he spotted the unicorn tethered to a tree. The girls in the class were standing close to the unicorn as it pawed the ground with its golden hooves, listening to what looked like a substitute professor while the boys stood at a good distance away.

“Dear lord, I can’t handle a unicorn and Legolas Greenleaf in the same _place_!” Clara moaned. “This is torture, this is.”

Gimli rolled his eyes. They couldn’t have picked someone sensible like Ingrid, could they? There indeed was Legolas, standing near the paddock where they kept the Abraxan horses from Beauxbatons. Fíli and Kíli scowled almost identically when they spotted him, but Gimli’s attention shifted its focus to the troubled expression Legolas wore. Clara elbowed them all out of the way and greeted Legolas, who didn’t know what he was in for and politely greeted her in kind. Gimli drew in on Legolas’ other side, gratified when Legolas immediately turned to him and blocked out a miffed Clara.

“You’ve heard about Hagrid?” Legolas asked Gimli.

“No, something happened to him?”

“It was in the Daily Prophet, do you not read it?”

“I might skim through it now and then,” Gimli said defensively. “Galadriel needs a good cage lining, after all. Go on and cough up what I missed.”

“It’s been revealed that Hagrid is a half-giant,” Legolas said meaningfully.

“Well, that’s hardly a surprise,” Fíli interjected from over Gimli’s shoulder.

“He’s only taller than everyone ever,” Kíli added. “Are they that hard up for a news story?”

“Are you two thick?” Clara asked, sharing an eye roll with Johanna. “He’s likely been sacked over it.”

Gimli looked over the class again. Harry was glaring steadily at the ground. The Slytherin boys were whispering amongst themselves and shooting smug looks at the Gryffindors. Gimli sighed heavily. Did Hogwarts put every terrible person in Slytherin? He wondered if it would be too terrible if they moved to the Hufflepuff table, as that was the more neutral option than sitting at the Gryffindor table would be.

Clara had been working while Gimli’s attention had been turned. She was dragging Legolas away by the arm and babbling about how they should all go see the unicorn.

“They only like girls,” Fíli reminded her, deeply amused. “Though maybe it’s just prettiness they like,” he added, giving Legolas a pointed look. Legolas pretended he didn’t hear him and went with Clara and Johanna, looking a little apprehensive. Gimli glared at his cousins and pulled them along too, stopping just past where the other boys were grouped.

Gimli wondered if indeed Legolas could charm the unicorn, because he was getting closer than any of the boys. Then the substitute professor gave a sharp warning and in the next moment the unicorn let out a kind of melodic shriek and reared up on its hind legs. Legolas wisely shot back from the creature, though it still bucked against its restraint and tried to charge him. The unicorn changed its mind about attacking Legolas as he moved further away and began to pull frantically on its restraints. The professor kindly freed the unicorn and it darted into the woods.

“Well, Gimli,” Fíli said, clapping his shoulder. “The most beautiful and majestic creature there is ran terrified from Legolas. It really makes you think.”

“Professor Grubbly-Plank!” Hermione called out from the front line of girls, “Is that a normal reaction to males?”

“Heavens no,” Professor Grubbly-Plank answered. “They’re usually not violent unless severely provoked.” She gave Legolas a shrewd once-over, and raised her voice to ask him, “you’re that part-Veela champion, correct?”

“Yes,” Legolas answered, face a little pale but otherwise collected.

“That explains it. Unicorns _hate_ Veela. Be glad you aren’t full-blooded, Mr. Greenleaf, or she would have attacked instead of run off.”

“Rotten luck,” Kíli murmured under his breath, giving Gimli an innocent look when he turned to glower at him.

“Is that Mr. Durin over there?” Professor Grubbly-Plank called out. “Please, come forward!”

Baffled as to what she wanted, Gimli went to the front of the class, passing Legolas who was retreating all the way back to the fence.

“You are part-dwarf, are you not?” she asked briskly.

“Yes, Professor,” he responded, still not catching on.

“I’d like for you to return the unicorn to us,” she instructed.

Gimli wondered if all Hogwarts professors were so cavalier with the lives of their students, sending them into the Forbidden Forest willy nilly. As it was, something was tickling his mind about unicorns, something he may have read when they’d studied them a few years ago. He wished that Durmstrang’s Care of Magical Creatures professor hadn’t been a timid old bore who only brought in the most tame and mundane magical creatures that existed to class. Hermione, luckily, was there for clarification.

“Shouldn’t one of the girls try instead?” she asked.

“Normally yes,” Professor Grubbly-Plank said brusquely, “But your textbook does not cover unicorns in relation to dwarves, mostly because they are found further north. The two species have a most harmonious relationship, so it will be interesting to see if that will influence the unicorn to return.”

The Slytherins girls up ahead were smirking at Gimli. He looked back to Legolas, who had a hard edge to the tilt of his chin that said he wanted to go with Gimli, armed with his bow. No wonder the unicorn had fled from the great pillock. Irascible race, indeed. Gimli held his head up high, marched past the rubbernecking class, and ventured into the forest.

Turns out he didn’t have to go very far. The unicorn was grazing near a tree. It lifted its head abruptly when it heard Gimli, though it stayed where it was, neither attacking nor fleeing again. Gimli swiftly recalled every scrap of information he’d ever learned about unicorns and slowly approached it. His confidence grew the closer he got and, hoping that he wasn’t about to be skewered for his hubris, began to schmooze.

“You’re magnificent, that’s what you are. Don’t you go worrying about that blonde chap,” Gimli said, leaning close to the unicorn and speaking in a commiserating undertone. “I thought the same way you did when I first met him. He only has a little nasty Veela in him. He’s mostly made up of silly wizard, and possibly elf.”

To his amazement, the unicorn swiveled its head down and snuffled at Gimli’s beard.

“There, see! We put that bloke far in the back, so it seems a shame for you to leave just now. I’ve got two cousins out there you might like to meet, since you like us dwarves so much.”

As if he understood what Gimli had said (and there was speculation out there that unicorns were indeed that intelligent), the unicorn whinnied and let Gimli take hold of its bridle. When Gimli returned with the unicorn, the class broke out in scattered applause.

“Well done, Mr. Durin,” Professor Grubbly-Plank congratulated, and attempted to take over the unicorn. The unicorn whinnied again and jerked away from the professor, practically molding itself to Gimli’s side. “It seems she has some affection for you.”

That appeared to be an understatement. Gimli walked back to where the boys were converged, and the unicorn followed him obediently. She yanked back when Gimli went too close to the younger boys, but calmed when she sniffed out his cousins. Fíli and Kíli stroked her sides, cooing pleasantries and promising to bring her a treat next time they came. Gimli was about to go back to the girls and tether the beastie when the unicorn surprisingly pulled Gimli over to where the Slytherin boys were standing and nudged a boy with skin even darker than Ingrid’s with his snout.

For a moment everyone just stared at the scene, just trying to work it out. Unfortunately, the first one to come to a conclusion was one of the Gryffindors, a boy with a thick Irish accent that managed to make what he said even more cutting.

“What’s the matter, Zabini? The unicorn figured you for a girl?”

The tittering began, increasing in volume when the unicorn backed away as the other Slytherin boys crowded the Zabini boy and made an angrily defensive barricade against everyone there. Harry, at least, wasn’t laughing but was instead sizing Zabini up like he was trying to fit a new paradigm into his worldview. Gimli stupidly thought that maybe the boy had dwarf blood. As he took note of how embarrassed the boy looked, another possibility occurred to Gimli—unicorns clearly were only concerned with biologically female _parts_.

In this new light, Gimli could see that Zabini’s classmates had a concerned glint in their eyes and were actually protecting Zabini against ridicule. It was the first real positive trait he’d found in the Slytherins, and it gave him reason to help them out. He surreptitiously took out his wand and whispered a summoning charm, clearly picturing the bucket of apples Hagrid kept filled near the back door of his hut. An apple slapped into his hand.

“Oy, shut your gobs,” Gimli called out in a dismissive manner. “He only had an apple on him, see?”

He pretended to draw an apple from Zabini’s pocket and held it aloft for the class to see. The laughter subsided and most of the Gryffindors looked disappointed at the reasonable (if not dubious) explanation. Gimli fed the unicorn the apple and Professor Grubbly-Plank came to collect the unicorn and bring it back to the front of the class.

Zabini leaned close to Gimli and hissed menacingly, “If you’re think of using this as blackmail— ”

“What on earth do you mean, Mr. Zabini?” Gimli said innocently, chancing a knowing wink.

The boy scrutinized Gimli’s face, then nodded, satisfied.

“It’s Blaise,” he said, elbowing Malfoy who looked ready to scold Blaise for backing down from his threat. Malfoy scowled, but went about his business. Perhaps Gimli wouldn’t have to change tables after all.

***

Kíli and Fíli returned to the castle right after class, and in all the excitement Gimli had forgotten to make them play nice with Legolas, so that was a plan wasted. Gimli stayed until the Hogwarts students returned to their classes in the school proper, and then went with Legolas to see if they could talk to Hagrid. Gimli knocked on the door several times, but Hagrid didn’t come out. Another plan torn, Gimli invited Legolas on their daily sojourn to the forest.

At one point they came across a nest of pixies and spent a good two hours trying to outsmart them and drive them away from Gimli and Legolas’ favorite meeting spot. Gimli wasn’t trying too hard to hex them off Legolas, because he was hoping they would lift them by his ears and he’d be able to die happy from laughter. By the time they’d managed to send all the pixies away, it was nearly dark and they had missed dinner. Gimli gazed forlornly at the castle.

“I knew being friends with you would have dire consequences,” Gimli grumbled.

“I shouldn’t have skipped lunched today,” Legolas agreed.

“Skipped lun—all right, you have to tell me your secret. Do you really forage for your meals or do Veelas have a stomach the size of a walnut?”

Legolas seemed highly amused. “I eat as much as a normal wizard. Only I tend to buy snack foods in Hogsmeade, and I’m currently fresh out of supplies.”

“Well, as you gnaw on your pillow tonight, remember that I was the one who kept telling you to eat at proper mealtimes. It’s not like they don’t serve vegetables with their bloody hanks of dead animals.”

“You are a wise old soul, Gimli Durin,” Legolas teased.

As he turned to walk the few paces to the carriage door, Gimli had a stroke of inspiration and pulled on Legolas’ cloak.

“Got an idea that might save your bed linens,” he said.

The idea was to try and find those kitchens that Fíli and Kíli kept making off to. Gimli took Legolas into the castle and they mingled with students who were making their way to other parts of the castle. Many of them stared openly at them, likely confused as to why the two foreign champions were not only getting along, but were wandering the halls of their castle. Gimli ignored them with great discomfort while Legolas let the stares fall off him like water off a duck’s back.

He thought it would be easy to find a portrait of fruit, but he hadn’t counted on Hogwarts _lining_ its walls with portraits. They searched for nearly an hour in vain, once getting stuck on a moving staircase and having to double back around to the front of the castle.

“Let’s think of this logically,” Legolas said, spreading his hands out as if he was flattening a map. “Where would one put a kitchen?”

“Probably near the Great Hall, but we checked all around that,” Gimli said.

“What about under it?” Legolas suggested. Gimli lit up and they were off, jogging down a short staircase and heading one floor below the main hall and one above the dungeons. They stumbled upon a cheery room with lots of greenery, barrels, and round doors, reminding Gimli of Bilbo’s bakery.

“This is probably the Hufflepuff part of the castle, given the yellow and bronze motif,” Legolas said. He suddenly darted off and waved Gimli over. Down another corridor they went and Gimli brightened because the walls held portrait after portrait of various foods. Finally he found it, a large painting of a bowl of fruit.

“Behold, the _fruits_ of our labor,” Gimli proclaimed. Legolas groaned at the pun, and Gimli rubbed his hands in delight. Now he just had to remember which fruit he had to tickle. Shrugging, Gimli started tickling all of them. Legolas was looking at him like he thought Gimli was a bit touched.

“Get to tickling,” Gimli commanded, cementing his lunacy. Legolas dutifully tickled a pear and it squirmed and giggled before turning into a green door handle.

“Dinner is served,” Gimli intoned smugly, opening the door for Legolas.

The kitchens were surprisingly large. Brass pots and pans hung from the walls and ceiling and a large brick fireplace crackled at the end of the room. Gimli counted four long tables that certainly mirrored the actual house tables in the Great Hall above them.

At least a hundred house-elves were there, dressed in tea towels stamped with the Hogwarts crest. They bowed and curtseyed as they passed. Legolas barely noticed them, which would have told Gimli loads about his upbringing if he hadn’t known it already. Gimli, on the other hand, was keenly fascinated, as he’d never owned a house-elf. Thorin had, but only one that was so old that Thorin, Fíli and Kíli went ahead and did their own chores and mostly set the house-elf to dusting, insisting that this was the most difficult job in the house.

There was one lady elf sitting on a stool by the fire. She wasn’t wearing the uniform and was holding an open bottle of butterbeer. She looked remarkably sad, so Gimli didn’t bother her and just figured she was a visiting relative or something.

Gimli didn’t know if they should just rummage in the fridge or if one had to ask for permission. Legolas took the burden of indecision off Gimli.

“I think I’ll have biscuits to start with.”

Promptly the house-elves appeared with a large platter of biscuits and a jug of milk. Legolas pointed at a spot on the floor and the elves summoned a small table and chairs there, laying the platter and milk down upon it. Gimli watched in amusement as Legolas seated himself primly at the table and tucked in. He noticed Gimli still standing and observing him.

“What?” he asked, dipping a biscuit into the milk over and over.

“Let me guess: you owned about a hundred house-elves growing up.”

“No, six,” he corrected, smiling slightly. “They’d dead useful.”

Gimli nicked a couple of biscuits and sat in the seat nearest the fire.

“I bet you haven’t cooked or cleaned a day in your life.”

“Have so!” Legolas exclaimed, scandalized.

Gimli scoffed. “Six elves and you traipsing about Europe all the time? I’m sure you can make toast and pick up your own clothes, but I’d love to see you cook a full course or scrub a toilet.”

The chair scraped back along the stone floor and Legolas was on his feet.

“Prepare to have your taste buds sing my praises,” Legolas avowed.

The house-elves, Gimli noticed, were quite bothered that a wizard was going to be doing the cooking and were trailing Legolas nervously. Legolas first gathered ingredients from the pantry: largish jar of tomato sauce, onions, aubergines, olive oil, a bowl full of various herbs and two loaves of bread. Then he trooped over to a basin and swiftly washed his hands before going to the cold pantry and extracting eggs, butter, and two blocks of white cheeses. He laid his procured ingredients on a counter and to Gimli’s surprise began to pick out the braids in his hair. When the hair was loose, Legolas produced an elastic band and pulled his hair through and folded it once into a sort of shoddy bun.

“Let me get this straight,” Gimli called over to Legolas. “You’ll fight a dragon with your hair in danger of obscuring your vision, but you _will_ tie it back when dinner is on the line.”

“Do you want to eat strands of my hair?” Legolas asked sweetly. Gimli chuckled, letting Legolas get on with his cooking. Gimli pulled out his pipe before he thought that the elves might not like him smoking in their kitchen. However, one of them popped up next to him, snapped its fingers, and Gimli found his pipe lit and merrily burning.

He pulled off his damp cloak and draped it over a chair, settling in as he watched Legolas slide slices of bread into the oven and chop vegetables. Gimli found it hypnotic to watch Legolas like this. He was no master chef, but Legolas appeared at ease in a kitchen and had a steady rhythm going. He used a large mortar and pestle to crush up the freshly toasted bread with some herbs and dipped pieces of the aubergine in egg to batter it. Gimli thought that Legolas might be good at potions, judging by the expert way he ground his ingredients and timed it all.

His pipe ran low and still he watched Legolas because it felt like a time for comfortable silence and not forced conversation. The lamps above cast a warm glow on Legolas’ skin. His hair had started to rebel and was escaping its binding as he began frying. Gimli wondered how he had ever thought of Legolas as cold and remote. Legolas was warm and welcoming, and he sharply reminded Gimli of when he was young and would watch his father cook or his mother clean. To think that a Greenleaf would one day remind Gimli of home. Maybe he was going mad, but at least he was getting supper out of it.

Legolas finally put a finished casserole dish into the oven and returned to the table where Gimli sat.

“Should be less than twenty minutes,” he said.

“Couldn’t we have had sandwiches and be done with it?” Gimli asked plaintively.

“It’s not that long of a wait,” Legolas scolded. “In fact, it went much faster than it did at home. The kitchen here is kept so clean and the food so fresh that I finished in record time.”

The house-elves looked delighted and bowed low to the floor. Legolas raised his eyebrow at Gimli like he was saying _that’s how house-elves are handled_. Gimli blew a smoke ring in his face. Legolas wrinkled his nose and waved it away from his face.

“How can you smoke that terrible stuff?”

“One puff at a time,” Gimli answered easily. He put it out, however, and helped wave some of the smoke away himself. A gust of air blew over Gimli’s shoulder and he looked to see the strangest elf he’d ever seen holding a pair of bellows. It was wearing a quilted tea cozy for a hat, a hideous maroon jumper with a giant ‘W’ on it that fell to its feet, and said feet covered with one purple sock and one mustard yellow one. He wondered if this was another visiting relative.

“Hello there,” Gimli greeted, not sure of the proper etiquette for conversing with house-elves. The elf looked gobsmacked to be noticed.

“You is speaking to Dobby, sir?” he asked mistily. “A _wizard_ is saying hello to Dobby?”

Gimli winced, hoping he hadn’t insulted the elf too terribly. “Terribly sorry.”

Distressingly, Dobby’s eyes began to fill with tears.

“Now he is _apologizing_ to Dobby? You must be the kindest of wizards, kind as Harry Potter himself!”

Oh, well that explained it. Gimli relaxed. Legolas, however, was looking oddly at Dobby.

“You’re a strange house-elf,” he said.

“Dobby is a free elf, sir! Dobby works for the great Albus Dumbledore and is getting _paid!_ ”

The other house-elves were looking away at these words, to Gimli’s amusement.

“Good for you!” Gimli congratulated. Suddenly the elf sitting on the stool by the fire burst into tears. Startled, Gimli almost went to console her, but she was turning to Dobby and pointing sternly at him.

“Dobby is a very bad house-elf!” she cried. “Asking to be _paid_.”

“Winky misses her old master, sir,” Dobby confided to Gimli, politely ignoring Winky as she slid to the floor, weeping. “I keeps telling her to forget about him and enjoy Hogwarts! We is treated very nice here and she is a lucky elf.”

“Winky is NOT lucky,” Winky wailed. “Oh, what is Mr. Crouch doing without his Winky? He is alone and Winky is here.”

“Perhaps it’s all for the best,” Legolas said to Winky, a tendril of concern in his voice. This did nothing to appease her. In fact, it did the opposite and sent her into a fit where she beat her hands on the floor.

“Dobby ne-needs to stop bringing im-improper wizards to the kitchens!”

“Dobby had nothing to do with _these_ wizards visiting!” Dobby argued, but only half-heartedly.

Their continuous arguing faded out as Gimli took in the state of Winky. Her clothes were shabby from neglect and it looked like these crying outbursts were the norm. The other elves were shying away from the pair in shame. A couple of them had poured Gimli and Legolas a cup of tea, likely as an apology for the rudeness of their brethren. Legolas shrugged, clearly deciding that Winky was a lost cause. Gimli probably should have as well, but the poor thing was still sobbing brokenly on the floor and he felt compelled to help her. Moreover, he could prove that Legolas wasn’t the only one who could handle a house-elf.

Gimli righted her back on her stool and handed her a kerchief. She blew into it and Gimli decided that it was now hers.

“There now, Miss,” Gimli hummed, kneeling on one knee in front of her. “It’s that bad, isn’t it?”

Winky howled, but she nodded in answer, so Gimli readily took it as a good sign.

“Now, I don’t know what happened and you have no need to tell me, but I bet that your old master is missing you and doesn’t even know it. Even if he did went and got himself a new elf,” and here the crying increased, so Gimli rushed on, “he’s probably having a rotten time of it. Why, I bet that upstart elf doesn’t even serve his tea right!”

Winky’s tears were slowing. Gimli seized the opening.

“He might even go looking for you one day. But oh, that wouldn’t be good, would it?”

“Of course it would be good!” Winky squealed in outrage. “Winky would be the luckiest house-elf in the wh-whole world!”

“I only mean, what if you got rusty, sitting on the same stool being sad all day? What would he think if he could see the state you’re in?”

Winky looked down at herself as if she hadn’t bothered to do so in a very long time. She squeaked and flew out of the chair, disappearing behind a wall that had swung open for her. Triumphant, Gimli rose to his feet and turned to see that Legolas had sneaked the food out of the oven and had served it onto two plates. He’d even made garlic bread at some point. It smelled wonderful.

“All right, I’ve decided that you are not one of Santa’s elves,” Gimli declared, seating himself in his chair again.

“Oh? How did you arrive at that conclusion?”

“I got the wrong elf. Clearly you are half house-elf.”

“You are a terrible person and I hope you’re allergic to garlic,” Legolas swore, failing to keep a straight face and letting his eyes crinkle in glee.

“I’m the opposite of a vampire,” Gimli assured him, grabbing his fork. “ _Now_ will you tell me what I’m about to eat?”

“Eggplant Parmigiana.”

“I can’t believe I’m about to eat this pretend lasagna.”

“Stop your grousing and try it.”

Despite Legolas’ chiding, he actually looked a bit nervous for Gimli’s verdict on the dish, so Gimli did as he said. He needn’t have worried: the food was simple and delicious. Gimli let out a moan of appreciation, loading up another forkful. Legolas’ cheeks were a little flushed, but he was pleased and started to eat himself.

They finished with barely a word spoken, which Gimli appreciated because he took his mealtimes seriously. Legolas lazily drove the crust of the bread through the sauce left on his plate, leaving nothing behind and satisfying Gimli’s mothering instinct.

“You’ve done a terrible thing, lad,” Gimli warned. “Now I’ll expect you to cook for me frequently.”

“Fat chance,” Legolas said, though Gimli suspected that he was lying through his teeth. “Next time you cook for me. Unless you don’t know how or always mix in dead animals.”

“Best stick with desserts from me, then,” Gimli said.

At that moment Winky returned. She had put on a clean skirt and blouse and was carting their finished plates off with singular purpose. That done, she refilled their cups and replenished the bowl of sugar cubes. Gimli nodded at her proudly. He thought of her going back to her stool when they left and had an idea to keep her busy.

“Say, do you by any chance know how to sew?”

Winky nodded enthusiastically. “Oh, Winky is very good at sewing! She sewed her master’s clothes and made him towels!”

“I’ve got a cloak that needs mending and goodness knows how my cousins’ clothes are faring. I could use a good seamstress, if you would be so kind.”

The shine of happiness in her eyes gave Gimli his answer, and later that same night he brought her the mending.


	7. Kíli’s Pub Crawl

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo sorry for the long wait! I've been swamped with a new job and quite a few personal commitments, so I've had a hell of time not only finding time to write but being in the right head space for it.

There was a marked difference in the company Gimli kept at mealtimes over the next several days. Blaise Zabini made it a point to eat with Gimli every other day, though Gimli suspected it was merely out of a traditional code of honor because he didn't look pleased to be associating with a blood traitor and half-breed. Gimli would have been more insulted if Blaise didn’t dislike most of the other Slytherins, particularly Malfoy. He was making an _effort_ at civility, so Gimli avoided all talk of ancestry and made a reciprocal effort. Others occasionally decided to join Zabini, though they proved to be just as standoffish and arrogant. Gimli, however, wasn’t too surprised or disappointed. After all, most of the friends he’d made at Durmstang had started much the same way.

As January drew to a close, Gimli felt the first stirrings of worry over solving the egg. Every spell he tried failed to make sense of the terrible shriek that issued from it. Hogwarts’ library was failing him and Karkaroff was looking more and more distraught over it, though Gimli idly wondered why he wasn’t taking more of his frustration out on Gimli, since this was particularly important and he’d never failed to lay into any student that wasn’t Viktor Krum for the slightest reason.

Gimli’s current plans for a quiet evening were ruined when Kíli tackled him as soon as he made it to the top of the gangplank. From all the excited chatter Gimli heard as they entered the common cabin, Gimli gleaned that Kíli and Tauriel were now seeing each other officially. Figuring he’d be hearing this all evening, Gimli picked up a library book and waited for the opportune time to tune Kíli out.

“Good on you,” Fíli was saying to his brother. “We should celebrate.”

He’d said that offhandedly and in the manner of offering Kíli a toast, but Kíli latched onto the idea and looked ready to burst in excitement from whatever he was concocting.

“ _Pub crawl_!” Kíli announced to the whole of the room. Everyone seemed nonplussed, though Lukas was the first to point out the obvious.

“Hogsmeade has, like, one pub,” he said dryly.

“I thought there was another one down a little side street,” Poliakoff mentioned, his tone entirely too innocent to be believed. “There might be a couple more little places.”

“See, there you are! What else are you lot going to do tonight?”

“Stay here and not get sent back to Durmstrang for drinking unsupervised,” Ingrid answered.

“Oh please, Karkaroff’s never around anymore unless it’s to scold Gimli for the whole egg thing, and he’s already done that today,” Kíli said.

“You know, I saw him arguing with that Snape guy at the Yule Ball,” Clara said thoughtfully. “It was kind of weird, though.”

“You had time to notice that with your hand down—”

Clara rightly upended Poliakoff from his chair, prompting everyone to break into scattered applause.

“Maybe he and Snape are former lovers or something,” Lukas suggested.

“I’m going to stop you right there,” Fíli told him slowly, clearly suppressing a shudder. “Well, thanks to Lukas here, we all have to go now, because we need to drink that memory away.”

“Can I bring Her-my-own-ninny?” Viktor asked. Kíli gave him a dubious look.

“Yeah that’s fine, but she doesn’t look like the partying type?”

Viktor appeared gratified. Gimli grunted his dismissal of the whole mess and opened his book to resume his studying. A few moments later the book was lowered by Kíli who was leveling Gimli with a disapproving look.

“You’ve studied more in the past week than you’ve studied in your whole damned life. You clearly need a break.”

“I’d rather like to know what’s going to be trying to kill me a month from now,” Gimli explained quite reasonably. “There’s been talk of getting cockatrices back on the table, mostly to prove that stopping the tournament a couple hundred years ago was too hasty.”

Kíli rolled his eyes and rudely tossed Gimli’s book away.

“I suppose I’ll say the magic words, but I hope you know I do so under great necessity and also to impress Tauriel a little,” he warned, sighing heavy and defeated. Grudgingly, he murmured, “You can bring the ponce.”

Gimli was startled and only a little pleased by this because there was an insult or two in there somewhere. He decided to act unconcerned.

“With you lot gone, he can just come aboard _and_ I’ll get more work done.”

“Pleasseee come, Gimli!” Kíli whined, breaking entirely. Well, it _would_ be kind of fun and he _had_ been working hard. It had nothing to do with wanting to see if he could convince Legolas to down a pint or two.

***

Their first pub of the night was the Three Broomsticks. Legolas and Tauriel were already there when they arrived, holding a large table for their group. Legolas must have some sort of sixth sense or could somehow discern his footfalls, because he looked up the moment Gimli stepped through the door and gave him a smile that could have lit up the whole of Hogsmeade. It instantly shook off any lingering guilt over coming out here tonight.

Kíli bowled at least three patrons over getting to the table, and as soon as he crashed into the chair he began talking his head off to Tauriel. Gimli was glad to see this development, because seeing Kíli clam up every time Tauriel came near had been borderline creepy. _This_ Kíli was by far more grating, but at least Tauriel would soon find out if she could tolerate him for long lengths of time. Judging by her smile and how she spoke equally fast, Gimli guessed that she might never tire of it.

Hermione arrived accompanied by Harry as they were ordering drinks. Viktor appeared pleased to see her but not so much Harry. Gimli wondered if the great lummox had framed this as a _date_ rather than a simple outing and despaired over Viktor’s courtship skills.

Fíli had invited the infamous Weasley twins, who introduced themselves to Gimli by joyfully snapping a slap bracelet on his wrist. Gimli jumped at the sudden shock of it and went ahead and jumped again when small vines erupted from the camouflage-colored bracelet and lassoed themselves around Gimli until he was effectively tied up in foliage. A roar of laughter went up around the table as Gimli tried to free himself.

“See, this is what all that studying gets you,” Kíli cajoled, patting Gimli’s shoulder soothingly. “If you’d been paying attention to the hottest trend, you’d know never to let a Weasley within ten feet of you.”

One of the Weasleys gave a practiced flick of his wrist and the vines withered away around Gimli. Once free, Gimli joined in the laughing, because it was honestly a clever trick. He noticed, however, that Legolas had gone completely silent and was giving the Weasleys a cold stare.

“It’s just a bit of fun, no harm done,” Gimli assured him, but Legolas was unmoved.

“I do not like them,” he murmured.

That was surprising, given Legolas had previously said that the Weasleys were a good family. Gimli took in the context of the situation and suddenly understood perfectly. He leaned over, faux sympathetic.

“They get you with a bracelet?”

Legolas reddened, answering Gimli’s question.

“I tasted _liver_ for four hours.”

Gimli fought valiantly not to chuckle at that, but Legolas caught his amused glance and elbowed him sharply.

“You are as wicked as they!” he exclaimed.

“Clearly you didn’t grow up with a pair of mischievous cousins,” Gimli said, raising his voice so said cousins could overhear.

“We were a delight—don’t let him slander us good folk,” Fíli told Legolas, which was the first time he’d ever spoken to him directly, making Gimli proud.

“Are you twins?” Legolas asked.

“’Course not,” Kíli said, offended. “I’m clearly the younger, more handsome brother.”

“How are you two in the same year?” Harry asked from along the length of the table. Hermione looked ready to condescendingly explain, but Fíli kindly beat her to it.

“We’re just under a year apart in age. I was born September 12th and Kíli August 2nd. I was a shade too young to go to Durmstrang, so I had to wait and by the time I got to go Kíli just turned 11 and went too. The only bright side was that I came of age first, so I got to learn apparating before he did. The pranks were _amazing_.”

“Your birthday is in a week, right?” Gimli asked Legolas. Legolas nodded, visibly gratified that Gimli had remembered. “Eighteen means you can get into any place at all. I hear Knockturn Alley has some right scandalous places.”

“I’m actually going to be nineteen,” Legolas corrected, shocking Gimli. His voice softened so no one else could overhear. “I missed a year of primary school after my mother passed. My father didn’t want me to fall behind or feel like I needed to catch up after it happened.”

Gimli’s heart sank. Each time Legolas mentioned his mother, a shadow passed over his face and it made Gimli both want to know everything about her and for Legolas to never bring her up again. It seemed he was going to constantly change his estimation of their friendship, because it was already to the point where he wanted to protect Legolas and make sure nothing put that haunted look in his eyes again.

Still in a state of melancholy, Gimli thought of the future and was badly startled by the fact that there was no real reason for them to stay in contact once the tournament ended. ‘Course, if Kíli and Tauriel made a real go of it, Legolas might tag along sometimes or at the very least show up for the wedding, though Gimli was unsatisfied banking on the success of someone else’s relationship. He hadn’t thought of the longevity of their friendship and he wondered if Legolas had.

“‘fraid you won’t see me when I finally turn eighteen, since it’s in July.”

“I should like to visit you,” Legolas blurted, flushing from his own eagerness. It had the effect of dispelling Gimli’s unhappy mood, much like seeing the morning sun after a stormy night.

 “Aye. I’d like that too.”

They regarded each other in easy companionship until Fíli nudged Gimli with a full tankard of gillywater.

“We’re both far too sober for what I’m seeing,” Fíli muttered almost inaudibly. Gimli had no idea what he was on about and looked around for a reason behind that statement. He supposed he was talking about Kíli, which made sense as Kíli was holding Tauriel’s hand like it was a small woodland creature he wanted to both cherish and keep safe. He tucked into his drink anyway, and they all spent the next hour in varying states of alcohol consumption.

Legolas left the table for a while to speak with a couple of Beauxbatons boys who had sought him out, so Gimli was left with Viktor, who had a downcast expression. Hermione was hugging him goodbye and apologizing profusely. Harry stood not far from them with the large black dog Gimli had seen on his last trip to Hogsmeade. Gimli lit up at the sight of the pup and immediately stood up and patted his knees.

“Here boy! Here boy!”

The dog perked up and trotted over to Gimli. Gimli dug his hands into the dog’s scruffy fur and began cooing endearingly to it. Kíli was ignoring his half-eaten plate of fish and chips, so Gimli snatched it from the table and immediately set it on the floor for his new best friend.

Harry sidled over to Gimli, looking almost nervous of Gimli’s attention to the dog, likely because pets weren’t allowed in the pub.

“Shame such a handsome boy is a stray,” Gimli lamented. He wondered if he could smuggle the dog into his cabin and keep him hidden for a few months.

“Oh, Snuffles has a family he stays with not far from here,” Harry quickly assured him. Gimli deflated, but felt better that the dog had a home.

“No pets allowed!” the attractive barista scolded Harry. Harry apologized to her and Gimli and left the pub, towing Hermione and Snuffles with him out into the blistery night. Gimli resumed his seat next to Viktor, who had gone past surly and into ill-tempered.

“Who pulled a bristle off your broomstick?” Gimli asked.

“Do you think Hermione has feelings for Harry?”

Oh lord, not this sort of ridiculousness. Gimli reached over and lightly flicked Viktor’s forehead.

“She’s underage and it’s getting late. She’s by far the more sensible one of the pair of you. Besides, Harry looks like he barely knows girls exist, let alone that he should do anything about wooing them away from international quidditch champions.”

“Still—”

Viktor trailed off, looking unsure but at least willing to accept the logic of the situation. Gimli was about to go off on another rant but was interrupted by Kíli swooping in and pulling them both to their feet.

“The night’s young! We’ve got a town to drink dry!”

Gimli mocked-groaned but dutifully drained the rest of his tankard, which he was proud to say was the same one he’d started with. He looked about for Legolas, who had yet to return from speaking with his mates. He jumped when he felt a feather-light touch on his shoulder and knew before he checked that it was Legolas.

“Bloody elf,” Gimli grumbled.

Legolas let out a scandalized exclamation and prodded Gimli in the back to get him walking.

“I’d abandon you in the middle of this bar hop—”

“Pub crawl,” Gimli corrected.

“—but I need a drink after prying Laurent and Bernard’s lips from my arse.”

Gimli _roared_ with laughter. Somehow hearing the fair and refined Legolas Greenleaf speaking as bawdy as any descendent of Durin was utterly hilarious. Legolas refused to join in for a few seconds before he started laughing at how much _Gimli_ was laughing.

“Stop that, people are staring,” Legolas implored, though it lacked conviction through all the giggles he was letting escape.

“I can’t help it. I just keep imagining what you said and wondering if you mean that literally because, well, I might have to defend your virtue.”

They stepped into the busy thoroughfare filled with witches and wizards finishing their shopping or heading home for the night. Poliakoff was having trouble walking, which was not surprising as Gimli had personally witnessed him down six firewhiskeys. The rest of their entourage was in high spirits. The Weasley twins were apparently joining them for the next bar, even though they had been refused service at the Three Broomsticks. They’d clearly known exactly what they were doing, because the next stop was at the most disreputable drinking establishment Gimli had ever clapped eyes on.

The Hog’s Head was a blight upon the cheery main street of Hogsmeade. It was a dark, dank building that had peeling paint on its edifice. The bay windows were so encrusted with filth that Gimli couldn’t see past them. The inside was worse. It had one small, dingy room with rough wooden tables. The floors were so dirty that it made it look like the building had no flooring at all and had been built on the bare ground. The lights were low-lit and the few patrons that were present all wore hooded cloaks or tucked themselves away in corners. The barkeeper was a bearded old man who wore robes that had seen better decades. Unlike Madam Rosmerta, he did not bother sussing out their age or their business there, just listlessly waved his hand and filled a slew of tankards from varying taps.

They pushed two long tables together and divvied up the drinks when the barkeep brought them over, disinterestedly dropping the platter on the table as if they were a group of unwelcome houseguests taking over his home and free time. Clara made sure she was the one to pass Legolas a drink, flashing him a suggestive wink as she did. Legolas accepted the drink without really noticing who’d passed it to him, and Gimli hid a broad smirk behind his own cup.

Naturally, this was the part of the evening where things began to get competitive.

“Beauxbatons vs. Durmstrang! Gimli for the win!” Kíli announced, slamming his hand down on the table. A chorus of approving roars went up.

“Don’t you start it,” Gimli growled. “I didn’t come out here to get roaring drunk.”

“Come on,” Lukas all but whined. “You’re our champion. Get pissed for the pride of our school.”

“I don’t plan on competing either,” Legolas said with finality, undermining his point by knocking back a shot of firewhiskey.

“I hate that you two get along,” Kíli muttered sullenly before lighting up as a new idea occurred to him. “Fine, me and Fee against the ginger twins and the girls against each other!”

“That’s not a fair competition!” Clara wailed. “Johanna doesn’t drink and Ingrid can beat _all_ of you.”

As they argued over the rules of the game, Gimli turned his attention to Legolas, who had just downed another shot.

“You do know that it’s not water in those little glasses, right?”

Legolas poured himself another shot, but let this one rest between his hands on the table.

“I really, _really_ hate my classmates sometimes.”

“Ah,” Gimli said, remembering. “The arse-kissers?”

“Well, I wasn’t being completely honest. At _first_ they wanted nothing more than to talk about how their fathers are _so_ important and my father should get in touch with them and oh, by the way, there wouldn’t happen to be an extra slot in the Mirkwood dragon-taming courses this summer? They’re difficult to get into you, you know,” Legolas sneered, his impression of two sycophantic tits uncanny.

“And then?” Gimli prompted lightly.

“And then…” Legolas trailed off, pausing to take the shot. “They asked what I was doing out here with all the Durmstrang students and rubbing elbows with you in particular.”

Gimli honestly hadn’t considered Legolas’ side of things. Legolas was rarely seen with anyone other than Tauriel for a significant length of time, so Gimli figured the rest of his classmates would simply mind their own business. Judging by the long-suffering and resigned expression on Legolas’ face, this was probably not the first time this subject had come up.

“You could always tell them you’re infiltrating enemy lines. Luring me into a false sense of security before you stole all our tournament secrets.”

Legolas’ lips twitched. “You have no secrets. In fact, you’re quite possibly the most honest person I know.”

“But ah,” Gimli said, tapping the side of his nose. “Maybe I’m that good at keeping it under my hat.”

“You don’t wear hats,” Legolas pointed out with such gravity that it made Gimli snort into his tankard.

“See? You would make a terrible spy and they’re all daft.”

Legolas began to look offended, but he gave it up after just a few seconds, likely on account of being pleasantly buzzed.

“Besides, I hardly need to spend my free time doing _more_ tournament business. Madam Maxime holds daily strategy meetings and makes _all_ of us attend, not to mention special classes she has with me where I have to painstakingly go through scrolls upon scrolls of parchment with all the intel she gathers.”

“That’s nothing,” Gimli said. “Not only do I get the pleasure of writing daily reports to Karkaroff, he’s usually off bribing anyone who can be bribed and comes back to tell me all about it and yell about how I’m a huge disappointment and that it should have been Krum.”

“Maybe it should have been Krum,” Legolas told him. Gimli felt the familiar thud of his heart taking another blow. It was stupid, because even _Gimli_ knew it should have gone to Krum and Legolas was just pointing out the obvious again.

“We have a theory that Krum didn’t actually put his name in, though that theory is admittedly shaky because Ingrid would have been the next best choice.”

“Stop doing that,” Legolas commanded. “You didn’t let me finish. I _meant_ that it should have been Krum because then we could have been friends without all this tournament business butting in.”

“But then,” Gimli pointed out, not ready to let go of his melancholy, “we would have ignored each other entirely. You’d be off gallivanting in the forest all day and I’d get three square meals a day and eight hours a sleep a night.”

“Well then,” Legolas conceded, “Glad it was you.”

That ended that potentially dark turn for the evening. Legolas swapped out his shot glass for a pint of butterbeer and Gimli contented himself with watching everyone continue to argue over how they were going to do a drinking game.

Eventually one of the Weasley brothers groaned and called over to the barkeep, “Say Abs, can’t we get some music in here?”

The barkeep just shrugged, entirely unconcerned with the goings on of the bar and instead was arguing with a hooded patron over drink prices.

“Guess we’ll have to make our own,” the Weasley said, clearing his throat as he stood with his brother.

_Oh, come and stir my cauldron_

_And if you do it right_

_I’ll boil you up some hot, strong love_

_To keep you warm tonight!_

 

“Merlin, not this song!” Legolas cried out, burying his face in his hands.

“Oy, this happens to be my mum’s favorite song, ain’t it Georgie?” the one who was probably Fred asked jokingly. The other one nodded sagely, but you could tell they were both ready to start howling with laughter or sing another verse of the cheesy thing.

“Oh sure, it was fine when it was first released _forty years ago_ , but when I have to hear it on the WWN at least once a day, it gets old.”

“Well then, why don’t _you_ sing us a song?” Clara asked Legolas excitedly, clearly remembering the song Legolas sang to subdue the dragon. Her flirting was so thinly-veiled that even Viktor was rolling his eyes at her.

“Do we have to turn this evening into a musical?” Kíli whined. “He’s not allowed to sing unless he knows a proper drinking song that everyone else can sing too.”

A light came into Legolas’ eyes as he reached behind him and rooted around in his cloak pocket. Gimli’s heart leapt at the sight of the large Boombox Radio and a small pile of tapes. Everyone except Tauriel and Gimli leaned forward at the sight of it, murmuring amongst themselves.

One of the Weasleys prodded it with his finger and grinned at his brother, “Our dad has one of these—”

“—never gotten it to work though—”

“—he doesn’t know we tried to make it work with a spell—”

“—but ended up cutting off the antenna and setting the garden gnomes on fire.”

Gimli inspected the tapes on the table. Unlike the tape Legolas had given Gimli for Christmas, these had proper covers and included a numbered list of song titles. The tape Legolas pulled out was simply named ‘dance mix’. The group was shocked when Legolas pushed a little plastic switch and all the dials and instruments lit up. He spoke in a hushed voice to an enraptured audience, promising a spectacular marvel.

“This song is guaranteed to generate a party no matter where it is played.”

The tape slid in, and a sideways triangle was pressed.

“EVERYBODY DANCE NOW!”

A truly infectious beat ensued. Gimli and most of the others were skeptical of the song’s siren call, but as it went on Gimli felt his spirits lift and he indeed wanted to dance. The other patrons of the bar began to trickle out as the song continued, but still the barkeep didn’t tell them to turn it down or scold them for making him lose customers. In fact, he seemed content to lower his hat and try to catch a quick nap.

The songs on the tape were far from complex. The next song also gave instructions, this time to jump around. The one after boasted that groove is in the heart, and from there Gimli chose to stop worrying about the lyrics and just enjoy the atmosphere.

The music stopped in the middle of the most inexplicable song yet and everyone began booing. Legolas hurriedly turned the tape around and as the song resumed everyone pointed at the Boombox and shouted, “WHOOP, THERE IT IS!”

Ingrid pulled Gimli up on the table to dance, which Gimli did because he’d had a couple of drinks and half the table was doing the same thing. When he looked back at Legolas he was dismayed to see that Legolas had been sneaking drinks, because he was now glassy-eyed and flushed. He also was sneaking looks at Gimli and Ingrid dancing, which somehow made Gimli feel guilty for having fun. It was at this point that Gimli noticed that Fíli was staring hard at Legolas. Gimli hopped off the table and walked over, worried that his cousin was about to say something terribly insulting and ruin the evening. He reached the pair of them just as Fíli was speaking his mind.

“Why do you keep your hair all long and braided? Is it a Veela thing or do you just like to be pretty?”

Legolas, surprisingly, turned his gaze to Viktor.

“Oh, short hair,” he moaned longingly, winding a lock of his own hair around his finger disinterestedly. “If I sheared off all mine tonight, it’d be back to the same length by tomorrow morning. It’s a damn nuisance.”

Fíli nodded sagely, and that was when Gimli knew that Fíli was the most inebriated of them all.

“First time I saw you, I thought you were a witch,” he admitted.

“That’s all right,” Legolas assured him. “I thought you were terribly ugly, but only because of the beards. It’s all right now, I think they’re nice.”

Gimli choked on his own spit. He might just have to bottle this memory and put it in a pensieve to look back on.

“’Course they’re nice!” Kíli piped up from behind them. “I only wish I could grow one properly. I suspect I take more after my dad.”

“Was your father human?” Legolas asked with genuine interest.

“Not really,” Fíli said. “He was one-eighth dwarf, so he almost looked human. Mum and Uncle Thorin are one-fourth dwarf, so we’re somewhere between an eighth and a fourth. It’s probably why Kee is so tall and can’t grow a proper beard while I have a luscious chin of hair.”

“How much dwarf is in you?” Legolas asked, rounding on Gimli.

“That’s what she said!” chorused Fred and George, followed by uproarious laughter. Gimli wanted to grind his hands into his eye sockets, but that would only encourage everyone. He addressed Legolas’ question instead.

“Half, give or take.”

“That’s so cool,” Legolas said, and Gimli had to bite his tongue not to laugh at _that_ slang coming from Legolas. “I’m half too.”

“Half-Veela?” Gimli asked, taken aback.

“What else?”

Suddenly the pull Legolas had over others made a lot more sense. Gimli had just assumed that Legolas’ mum had been human, but clearly she hadn’t been. It made Gimli all the more curious about her, but he wouldn’t dare bring up the subject just because Legolas was pissed and probably _would_ tell Gimli about her if he asked.

“So can we shave your head and watch it grow back?” Kíli asked excitedly.

“No,” Gimli said shortly.

“Come on, it’ll grow back, it’ll be fun…”

“Let’s do it,” Legolas announced, slamming his drink on the table.

Kíli punched the air and Legolas was suddenly leaning his head back on the table and handing Kíli a pocket knife. It was the makings of the first paragraph of the Daily Prophet article and obituary they’d be in tomorrow. Gimli snatched the knife away and turned off the music.

“I think it’s time we cracked on,” Gimli announced to the resultant groans. He grabbed Legolas by the hand and pulled him to his feet. Legolas swayed alarmingly, grabbing onto Gimli’s head for support. Gimli shook him off, but Legolas refused to let go and transferred his grip to his shoulders, almost pushing Gimli down to the floor with the weight of him.

“I’m too tall,” Legolas pouted.

“Nonsense,” Gimli ground out, pushing at Legolas’ too-tall chest and trying to keep his own legs buckled.

“Am so. I should take a shrinking potion.”

“That would only make you younger for a short while. I don’t fancy babysitting you.”

Legolas crinkled up his nose, and Gimli had to admit that it was kind of adorable. “Best not, then.”

Their third and final stop was a tea shop, being of course there were only two pubs in town. Gimli was the only one who didn’t mind so much, because this meant that everyone could sober up before making the long journey back to Hogwarts.

Madam Puddifoot’s made Bilbo’s bakery look cold and uninviting. The room was low-lit with scented candles guttering on delicately crocheted tabletops. A smooth jazz record was playing an infinite loop of blandness and in the back of the room was a living room set up with soft, cushy chairs. That was where Gimli dumped Legolas, propping him up against the arm of the couch and giving himself a seat on the opposite end.

Gimli went to the counter and ordered them two cups of tea. It was out in just a few moments and Gimli handed the small lilac tea cup to Legolas and warned him to drink it slowly so he didn’t burn his tongue. Legolas took a sip and comically stuck his tongue out in disgust.

“What the hell is this?” he demanded.

“It’s chamomile,” Gimli answered, grinning.

“There’s no _sugar,_ ” Legolas whined, pointing at the offending drink.

“There is so,” Gimli argued. Apparently Legolas’ sweet tooth extended beyond mere candy. Legolas thrust the cup at him and Gimli took it as Legolas promptly burrowed into the cushion like an angry crab. Gimli shook his head and rose once more to find a sugar bowl.

Kíli had ordered some kind of drink with frothy pink topping and was speaking softly with Tauriel at a table, all traces of sobriety accounted for. Apparently he’d had less to drink than he’d let on. Most of their group had joined a couple of tables together again and were sort of nodding off into their drinks. Ingrid and Clara had chosen a loveseat near the front and were giggling about something, giving Gimli prurient looks as he added three lumps to Legolas’ cup. Gimli shrugged and returned to the sofa.

Legolas’ eyes were closed, but opened as soon as Gimli sat down. He took one satisfied sip of the drink before he set it on the coffee table and shivered.

“I’m cold,” he announced, crossing his arms and burying his face in his drawn-up knees.

Gimli flicked his eyes to the roaring fire and raised a skeptical eyebrow. Apparently, Legolas was a spoiled and needy brat when liquored up.

“Use your cloak,” Gimli said.

“All right,” Legolas answered, taking it from his shoulders. Then he lurched forward and laid his head in Gimli’s lap, drawing his cloak around his shoulders as a blanket. Gimli looked down at Legolas’ completely guileless face and decided that he wasn’t going to argue. Besides, Legolas was finally smiling in contentment and it wasn’t really that uncomfortable a position for Gimli.

“You have a nice lap,” Legolas complimented him. Gimli snorted in amusement.

“Glad you think so. I have five dogs who echo that same sentiment.”

“Are you calling me a dog?”

“You should be honored.”

Legolas thought about it seriously. Then he drew his hand out of his cloak and beckoned Gimli with one finger to come closer. Gimli leaned down, further and further, until he was inches from Legolas’ flushed and happy face. Legolas leaned up to whisper in Gimli’s ear:

“ _Woof_.”

Legolas flopped back into Gimli’s lap, snorting through his giggles. It was so ridiculous and Legolas was laughing so hard about it that Gimli broke into unrestrained laughter himself, swearing that he was going to ask for a pensieve for his birthday. They finally stopped a minute later and quietly watched a log crack apart and make the flames spark and go higher.

Overall, it had been a pleasurable evening. He heard a few of the others leave, but oddly no one came over to retrieve them. When Gimli looked down to ask if Legolas was ready to go, he saw that Legolas’ eyes were closed and he was fast asleep. Snorting, Gimli leaned back into the cushions, deciding that Legolas would be useless until he slept some of the drink off, so he might as well relax and try to sleep himself.

Sleep eluded him, however, and he instead alternated between lazily watching the fire and examining Legolas’ slack face in sleep. It occurred to Gimli that this was the longest time he’d seen Legolas completely at ease. Usually he had a sort of pinched look about him and his smile rarely reached his eyes. Even when he was having a good time and was alone with Gimli, he still appeared tense and ready to spring into action at any moment. Legolas snuffled quietly in his sleep and turned his head so his cheek rested on Gimli’s leg and his face was turned completely towards Gimli.

A rush of contentment and peace stole over Gimli and he thought of how far they’d come in just a few weeks. Legolas said he wanted to visit in the summer, and maybe they could take a week or two to travel together after Erebor was taken back. Hell, Legolas was rich, maybe he’d fancy moving up there. But those thoughts were far away and uncertain, and right now Gimli was too boneless and content to dwell on them too long.

He reached out curiously and pinched a lock of Legolas’ hair between his fingers. It was incredibly thin and soft, as different to Gimli’s thick and coarse mane as a horse tail was to a baby chick’s wings. He set the hair back in place and brushed some loose strands from Legolas’ face. Gimli would wake him when the shop closed.


	8. Love Potion #9 and 3/4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It took me so long to write this chapter that I almost considered scrapping it, but I think it worked out. There will likely be typos and awkward phrasing since I decided to go ahead and publish it without doing more proofreading, but I thought it was better to just post and fix those as I go along rather than make everyone wait even longer.

“A little more to your left,” Legolas whispered over Gimli’s right shoulder. Gimli stretched his arms in that direction, his breaths coming short in anticipation. Legolas’ hands were warm on Gimli’s shoulders as he gently guided Gimli through the undergrowth to avoid any large branches or uneven terrain. He thought several times that Legolas was having him on, because surely an animal as large as a horse would be making _some_ kind of noise.

Then Gimli heard it, the sound of a large beast snuffling at him. Legolas grasped Gimli’s hand and placed it gently on the invisible hide of a thestral _._ Gimli smiled broadly, running his hands over its strangely slick hide, tracing the shape of a gaunt and skeletal creature. It was sort of like petting an invisible bat rather than a horse, and that thought loosened something awestruck in him and he relaxed and patted the beastie companionably.

“Quiet as the grave, I’ll give you that,” Gimli said. Legolas had finally given Gimli some space—he’d been anxious that the thestrals might harm Gimli, but now seemed satisfied that he was safe.

“You can feed her, if you like,” Luna offered, nonchalantly pulling a steak out of her shoulder bag. Gimli almost jumped out of his skin, having forgotten that she had tagged along with them.

“All right,” Gimli answered her, dubiously side eying her bag and wondered what else she carried ‘round with her. She handed him the meat and Gimli had the macabre pleasure of watching an invisible maw snatch the steak from his hand and devour it with gnashing fangs and a snarl.

Luna tossed two more steaks with a serene smile that never wavered as they were consumed just as savagely as the first. Even Legolas, who like Gimli found hunting acromantulas a roaring good time, was watching them feed with a slight grimace. Gimli had agreed easily enough to taking Luna with them to the forest, but he had yet to warm up to whatever it was that had ingratiated her to Legolas. The girl was barefoot in a dangerous and murky forest, feeding dark creatures of ill-omen like she was in a sunny park feeding ducks in a pond.

“What do you think?” Legolas asked Gimli, indicating with a slight tilt of his head their unseen companions.

“Probably better-looking than you,” Gimli quipped, earning himself a playful jab. “But they’re not bad at all. I heard some people domesticate them and ride them. Imagine seeing someone riding a thestral and not being able to see one yourself. “

“I don’t even like flying when I _can_ see what’s under me,” Legolas agreed, shuddering.

“You hate flying?” Gimli asked with some surprise. He would have pinned Legolas for a natural flier. That may or may not have to do with the bird ancestry.

“Not hate, exactly, only an aversion to it. I wonder if it’d be more like horse-riding than broom-riding. I might be able to tolerate that.”

“It’s a bit of both, actually,” Luna piped up from behind them. They both turned with widened eyes.

“You’ve ridden a thestral?” Gimli asked.

“Oh, loads of times,” she answered glibly, walking over and doing what Gimli guessed was running her hands down one of the thestrals’ manes. “Not these Threstrals, because there’s no sense breaking school rules without a very good reason, but at home we have a neighbor who owns one. They’re awfully fast and uncomfortable, though they do keep wrackspurts away.”

 _Wrackspurts_? Gimli mouthed to Legolas as Luna was turned away. Legolas shrugged, looking more amused than concerned over the poor girl’s fledging sanity.

“Well, I’d better get back to the castle. I’m sure you two would much prefer to be alone. I think it’s going to be a lovely sunset.”

Gimli thought that sounded a bit odd, though he wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth when the upshot was that she was leaving.

“Goodbye, Luna,” Legolas said, waving. Luna practically skipped away to the castle.

“Think I’d better be getting on too,” Gimli said, reluctantly. “Karkaroff will expel me if I come aboard after dark again, champion or no. See you tomorrow at breakfast?”

Legolas hesitated, his face falling slightly. “I’m afraid I won’t be anywhere near the school all day tomorrow.”

“Why, you going on a trip?” Gimli asked in surprise.

“No,” Legolas said in the tone of someone reluctant to answer.

“You know Hagrid’s back now,” Gimli mentioned, attempting to tempt Leoglas. “I think I’ve talked him into letting his students train the last skrewt, because frankly unicorns are getting boring.”

Legolas looked a tad wistful upon hearing this news and appeared on the verge of agreeing, but eventually he shook his head regrettably.

“Tomorrow is Valentine’s day, and I’d rather _kiss_ a blast-ended skrewt than be around large groups of people that day.”

Gimli snorted. Veela were not only irascible but overdramatic as well.

“So you’ll get a few Valentines and a few dating offers and a few declarations of love. Can’t be any worse than the yule ball.”

Legolas gave him a level, sober stare. “Last year I received thirty eight valentines, was asked out five times, and at least one first year girl was left in tears after I gently told her we’re too far apart in age. This year I’m at a school that’s not used to having a half-Veela around in the first place _and_ I’m a triwizard champion. I’ve taken twice my usual dose of love potion antidote as a basic precaution.”

Those were quite valid concerns. Still, that meant that Legolas was in no real danger, except from light embarrassment. Gimli sighed and clapped him on the back.

“Tell you what: we’ll skip breakfast and get lunch directly from the kitchens, then we’ll drop by Hagrid’s afternoon lesson where everyone will be too terrified for amorous thoughts, and finally we’ll end the day by coming back here and searching for that acromantula nest.”

Legolas appeared as if he wanted to argue, but upon seeing no real convincing argument, sighed and nodded his head.

“Fine, but if I get one declaration of eternal love, I’m ducking you in the lake.”

*

By the time lunch time came on February 14th, Gimli was starving and was waiting impatiently by the entrance doors of Hogwarts when Legolas stalked over the grounds, wordlessly waving a stack of red and pink letters in his hand at Gimli. The stack grew larger and larger as Legolas drew close, and it took every ounce of restraint Gimli possessed not to double over and sob with laughter. One of the letters was a _howler_ , blood-red yet sprinkled with shimmery glitter.

“The owls missed me at breakfast, so they dumped these on my head as soon as I left the carriage.”

He pulled his wand from his robe pocket and hissed a few feverish spells. The howler ripped open and was instantly engulfed in a noiseless bubble, but not before Gimli heard it proclaim “YOUR EYES ARE TWIN BLADES OF SAPPHIRE—”

“Shameless,” Gimli scoffed, hiding a wicked grin. “Besides, sapphire? I’d say either zircon or topaz would be closer.”

“Eating is overrated,” Legolas growled, crossing his arms and glaring at the castle. You would think he was being forced into a den of thieves.

“Come on, we can probably convince the elves to give us enough for dinner, too.”

Gimli wondered if Hogwarts was normally this enthusiastic about decorating or if they were only peacocking for the tournament. The suits of armor held armfuls of roses and tiny hearts drifted lazily in the air. As they passed a group of students, Gimli was taken aback by the sight of a slap bracelet made of hearts, clearly one made Weasleys. A boy was smiling besotted at a girl he was flirting with and he confidently slapped it on her wrist. Instantly a pair of handcuffs encircled the couple’s wrists, binding them together. As others in the group burst out in laughter, the girl’s face hardened and the boy flushed to the roots of his sandy hair as he attempted to remove the cuffs. Gimli vowed not to let his wrists within reach of anyone today.

He and Legolas were almost at the entrance to the lower levels when they were cut off by something dressed as a cherub. All right, Hogwarts was just barmy over the décor. Legolas let out a sharp gasp and Gimli saw that it was in fact a actual, full-blooded _dwarf_ dressed as cupid, complete with bow and arrow and standing chest-high to Gimli. A harp was pulled from nowhere and the dwarf began to sing in the bawdiest voice imaginable for all in the corridor to hear:

_“Oh he’s the littlest champion_

_With his pretty blond nanny._

_He’s not quite human,_

_Not quite dwarf,_

_But he’s certainly ugly!_

 

_Oh he’s the littlest champion_

_He thinks he might just win_

_We hope he does_

_And uses the gold,_

_To move from his rubbish bin!"_

The crowd tittered, most of them clearly never having seen a real dwarf before. Several of the ruder ones were openly pointing between Gimli and the dwarf, nudging their friends and making no doubt rude comments. What Gimli _wanted_ to do was string the creature up on its bowstrings and show it and everyone around just how unfunny an angry _half_ -dwarf could be, but Legolas was glaring out at the crowd for Gimli, daring anyone to step one inch within range of his knives, which calmed Gimli just enough to turn around and head back to the entrance doors.

The dwarf halted the third verse of his song with a flourish, calling out in a devilishly satisfied way at Gimli, “so the half-breed liked my song, did he?’

Gimli angrily strode out the front doors and started to make his way back to his ship at a brisk pace. He could hear Legolas following and cursed that it took no time at all for Legolas’ long, _normal_ legs to stride up to Gimli’s own short, stubby ones that moved like pistons, all power, no grace.

“I can’t believe that dwarf’s rudeness!”

“You were certainly right about today. Food is overrated.”

“You should have taught him a lesson. You can spell circles around most wizards I know—”

Gimli rounded on Legolas.

“Don’t you go blamin’ the dwarf. If you didn’t notice, it was the _wizards_ who were laughing the loudest.”

“Still, you are half-dwarf. He shouldn’t make his species look worse to a wizard’s eyes.”

Gimli pushed at Legolas’ chest. It wasn’t hard enough to make him stumble even a little, but it did the trick of getting Leoglas to shut up and listen.

“They _are_ less to wizards. I admit, I’ve spent far too many nights alone and ashamed that I’m half dwarf, but I’ve spent an equal number of nights ashamed that I’m half _wizard_. Did you know that dwarves were only given Being status twelve years ago? Wizards take their lands, refuse to let them own wands, and force them to work in menial jobs because they’re not as smart as _wizards_. Don’t blame the oppressed for hating their oppressors and hating me because my family chose to live in wizard society and carry a wand. So kindly sod off and leave me alone.”

Gimli turned and continued towards the lake. He didn’t hear Legolas come after him, and he couldn’t decide if he was happy about that or not.

*

Gimli spent the afternoon in a despondent slump. Fíli and Kíli had happened by an hour after the incident with the dwarf, but Gimli had refused to let them in because they were just as wrongheaded as Legolas, bemoaning the fact that they couldn’t get a hold of his “squat neck” and stop his singing for good. Gimli had no energy left in him to argue the point, and so the two had given up and left Gimli to stew in his own anger. Or at least they had for a while, because there came another knock on the door and Gimli was still in no mood to entertain them.

“You’re still not getting in!” Gimli wearily called out, having dealt with their method of constantly bothering him until he broke and let them have their way.

“I don’t fancy being caught by your headmaster, so can you make an exception?” Legolas urgently whispered on the other side of the door. Too shocked by his presence to remember that he was currently cross with him, Gimli jumped out of bed and cracked open the door enough to yank Legolas inside and push it shut again.

“Are you _mad_? What are you doing, sneaking ‘round in broad daylight on Durmstrang’s ship?”

“I wanted to talk with you,” Legolas stated factually.

“What, you don’t own an owl?”

“No, actually,” Legolas said. Gimli blinked and pinched the bridge of his nose. Of course the wanker wouldn’t.

“Still, whatever it is can’t wait until this accursed day is over?”

“It really couldn’t,” Legolas insisted. “I wanted to apologize.”

Gimli waved that away. He sighed and sat on the edge of his bed.

“No, don’t start doing that. You were just trying to defend me. Can’t exactly hate you forever for that.”

“Well, I was actually apologizing for how I behaved earlier because I did something else after.”

“What?” Gimli groaned. “And sit down—you’re tall enough as it is without towering over me.”

“I’d rather stay near the door, thank you.”

“So you have an exit strategy?” Gimli said archly. “I’d find you quick enough, so sit.”

“You don’t know _all_ my hiding places,” Legolas muttered, sullenly slumping next to Gimli. “Your bed is too soft. I feel like I’m sinking to the floor.”

Gimli smirked as he saw Legolas shift uncomfortably. Gimli, practiced in how to sit on his perfectly firm bed was almost the same height as Legolas now, mostly because Legolas was slumped over awkwardly. Finally Legolas gave up and turned his attention to his surroundings, gazing curiously at Gimli’s things and likely to start asking about each every one to avoid the topic.

“So tell me what you’ll be apologizing for next.”

Legolas hesitated but relented readily enough. “I went back and talked to the dwarf.”

“Oh, that was a top notch idea,” Gimli deadpanned.

“I kept thinking about what you said, turning it in my mind, and I started to wonder why a dwarf would take it upon himself to travel all the way to Hogwarts, dress as cupid, and torment you. One _wouldn’t_ , not unless he was forced into a menial job and was offered a good sum of money to do it.”

Gimli caught on.

“Someone paid him to do all that. And once again I feel a disappointment devoid of surprise in wizarding society. So you went back to ask him who put him up to it so you could exact revenge on my behalf.”

“Not exactly,” Legolas hedged. Gimli stared evenly at him until he went on. “Well, if turns out that this dwarf is quite enterprising and is mostly indifferent towards you. So he’s not going to be bothering you any longer.”

“He just…decided not to bother me. My kin as well?”

“Especially them. And even if the dwarf didn’t relent—aren’t you tired of caring about what everyone thinks?”

“I don’t bloody care—”

“I do. I did, rather. Just this morning I didn’t want to face the world because everyone wants me and yet no one does. I thought no could understand what that feels like, but I think you do.”

Gimli felt woefully inadequate in the face of Legolas’ claim. He understood entirely why Legolas would hate all the attention, but where the attention on Legolas was positive, the attention Gimli received was almost always negative. Half-breeds the both of them, but breeding mattered and Gimli fell short, pun darkly intended.

But that wasn’t fair, because Gimli remembered Laurent and Bernard, deriding Legolas for his choice in friends and yet kissing his arse to get what they want and have the prestige of being in his inner circle. _Everyone wants me and yet no one does_. Everyone wanted Legolas Greenleaf, heir of Mirkwood, Triwizard champion and impossibly beautiful half-Veela. No one wanted Legolas Greenleaf, Muggle music connoisseur, candy addict and overenthusiastic monster hunter.

Gimli also had the suspicion that Legolas had once had feelings for Tauriel, might even still care for her that way, but Tauriel never showed the same regard. He imagined how it must have been for Legolas, having spent his whole life desired by so many but finding all of it entirely useless when it really mattered. He supposed that though their situations were different, the result was that both of them spent most of their time hiding from others, and for what? So they could be miserable while others wouldn’t care either way?

“Aye, I know _exactly_ how you feel,” Gimli said, a rising strength flowing through his speech. It made Legolas turn his head completely to face Gimli, a spark of fellow feeling lighting his eyes. “And I’m suddenly famished, so I think we should head on down. I’ll give you a sickle for every offer you get, so you can at least make a good haul out it.”

*

It was amazing how freeing it was to walk into the Great Hall and not care that there were a couple of students giving him amused, mean looks. He received the most stares he’d had since fighting the dragon when he sat decidedly at the Ravenclaw next to Legolas and rubbed his hands together.

“Good nosh, this is,” Gimli announced, and filled his plate with enough food to make up for the first two meals he’d skipped today. Tauriel appeared soon enough and stopped by their table. She didn’t move to take a seat, so Gimli assumed that she took his presence to mean that Legolas wouldn’t be vulnerable to any amorous attacks.

“Hello, Gimli,” Tauriel greeted warmly.

“Gimli’s here to defend my virtue,” Legolas cut in with a voice overfilled with good cheer. “I’ll be fine.”

A silent conversation seemed to pass between them, which Gimli envied because he could barely understand where Legolas’ thoughts were going when Gimli and Legolas were _actually_ talking. Tauriel played along by sighing in relief.

“Time someone else took up the work. Though, you already do everything together and won’t let me hunt with you.”

“You can hunt?” Gimli asked with keen interest. He turned to Legolas, “Why on earth are you making me share the woods with Luna when we could have shared it with Tauriel instead”

“Because he wouldn’t be able to show off as well if I’m there showing him up,” Tauriel teased.

Legolas huffed in agitation. “Just because you beat me that _one time_ doesn’t mean I’m intimidated by you.”

“Doesn’t it? Didn’t you stop talking to me for a month and only started talking to me again when you broke your arm and needed sympathy?”

“I didn’t _need_ sympathy. You just beat down my door until I finally let you spoon feed me over-salted soup.”

“Fine, I’ll admit it: you make a better soup than me. Next time we’ll join a cooking contest and soothe your bruised ego.”

“Go on, bother another table,” Legolas said, mock-irritated.

Tauriel indeed moved along, surprising Kíli into upsetting his plate and his fellow classmates as he made them scoot over to make room for her. Gimli checked Legolas and saw a flicker of something small and bitter in his eyes as he returned his attention to his food, but Gimli decided not to mention it.

He did, however, find it necessary to elbow Legolas when a young black-haired girl approached Legolas from his blind side.

“I’m Romilda Vane,” the girl announced with a predatory flare. “Like to go to Madam Puddifoot’s with me next weekend?”

“I’m afraid he’ll be a bit busy, since he’s concentrating on a little thing like the Second Task and all,” Gimli said, trying not to add, ‘so piss off.’

Romilda glared at Gimli like he was a troublesome insect keeping her away from enjoying her day in the sun.

“Who asked you? Well?” she said, turning her attention to Legolas and her tone going from icy to warm in the blink of an eye.

 “Sorry, I’ve got plans for the next several weeks.”

Romilda seemed smart enough to know that Legolas would conveniently _keep_ having plans in the future, so she left in an irritated huff.

“That was a good one,” Gimli soothed, spearing a sausage.

Legolas frowned. “It’s not _entirely_ a lie. She doesn’t have to know that my plans consist of not having dates at all.”

Gimli hummed and finished his sausage, immediately going for in for a second. Another girl looked ready to ask Legolas out a few minutes later, but Gimli’s glare was enough to drive her back to her table. The rest of dinner passed uneventfully, right until the end when the dwarf made his return.

He appeared suddenly over the Slytherin table, no doubt thinking that Gimli was to be sitting there. Legolas tensed next to him, his right hand absent-mindedly stroking down his fork like he was in want of a weapon.

Thus they were watching very closely when the dwarf thrust his hand into a layer cake and unceremoniously smeared it over Draco Malfoy’s head. A chorus of laughter started, the dwarf’s laugh the loudest and most jeering.

“ _You miserable dwarf, I’ll have you tossed—”_

“What was that?” The dwarf asked Malfoy, cupping his ear theatrically. “You wanted something to drink with your dessert?”

A second later Malfoy was dripping cake and pumpkin juice down his mottled face.

Something niggled at the back of Gimli’s mind and oh right, Legolas had been speaking to the dwarf today. He turned to stare accusingly at Legolas, who was trying to hide his laughter in his cup but was not holding it together well.

“What did you _say_ to him?” Gimli asked.

“Nothing at all. Only, if he was being paid to humiliate someone, then a mysterious benefactor offering him _double_ what his original contract stipulated would certainly give him cause to turn on his original employer.”

Gimli sat stunned for a moment, thinking wildly that Thranduil had definitely taught his son some interesting business tactics. Malfoy was grabbing wildly for the dwarf but the dwarf slipped under the table quicker than one would expect and used some of its natural magic to make Malfoy’s robes rear up and try to feed themselves to Malfoy.

Gimli gave up and had to hide his face in Legolas’ shoulder as he joined in the laughter around him. With tears in his eyes, Gimli reached blindly back for their goblets and handed Legolas one so they could toast. Legolas knocked his goblet against Gimli’s and they drank deeply, triumph in their air and tiny floating hearts drifting in their hair and when Gimli lowered his goblet, he was in love.

Gimli recognized the feeling right away, though he’d never felt it before that moment. It was hard not to when everything was slowing down and Gimli’s heart filled with desire and a passion unlike any he’d ever known. He cast his gaze wildly about, but she was not there, she was somewhere else and he had to go to her right now and confess or the fire would consume him.

Legolas had a hand on his shoulder now, however, and it kept Gimli from getting up, but he didn’t know what was changing in Gimli, what was happening in his soul. Legolas knew something was off because Gimli couldn’t even try to hide it, not when he was feeling like this, like every question he’d ever asked the wide and vast universe had been answered, and it had been sitting in front of him all this time.

“Are you all right?” Legolas asked, his dear voice laced with worry. Legolas, who cared for him and who would share in his happiness.

“I may never be right again,” Gimli admitted, overpowered with this new thing inside him that was making his heart race and his limbs weak. Oh, he was in love! How could this have slipped under his notice for so long, just to come barreling at him all at once?

“You look flushed—let’s get you some air.”

Gimli’s heart plummeted. He looked _terrible_ and this was far too important to get wrong on the first go. He let Legolas sweep him from the room, and Legolas was a _genius_ because he wasn’t making Gimli leave the castle, but only taking him up the stairs and into a little-used turret. He stopped when they reached an open window and sat Gimli near it.

“I suppose I really _don’t_ have any hiding places left,” Legolas joked, taking Gimli’s cloak off and setting it aside. How many blessings did one get in life? To have such a friend by his side and a lover somewhere so very close?

Overcome, Gimli pulled Legolas down to the step beside him and kept his hands firm on his shoulders.

“Legolas, there’s something I must tell you.”

With wide, concerned eyes, Legolas listened attentively, ready to hear the most important words Gimli had ever uttered in his life.

“Oh Legolas, I can’t wait any longer to tell you—I’m in love.”

“ _What_?” Legolas asked in alarm, utter surprise flooding his face. It wasn’t entirely unexpected, because Gimli could hardly believe it himself.

“Aye, I only just now realized how I’ve truly felt all along. How foolish I’ve been!”

“Gi…Gimli, I don’t quite understand…” Legolas stammered, looking strangely pale and shell shocked. Perhaps Legolas didn’t believe him, thought this was some Valentine’s day prank? Gimli let go of Legolas’ shoulders and cupped his face instead, imploring his friend to understand.

“Oh, Legolas,” Gimli breathed. If Gimli squinted, he could superficially see her in Legolas. Gimli gave a warm, grumbling laugh. “I suppose I’ve always had a thing for blondes.”

Though he looked no less surprised than before, some change was coming over Legolas. He was still as wide-eyed as ever, but now he was almost gazing at Gimli with tentative wonder, like he was beginning to believe something he’d never even considered before.

“You’re certain?” Legolas asked, a note in his voice almost wishing for it all to be a joke and yet cautiously hoping it might be so.

“Oh yes, I’m completely smitten. Isn’t it best to say how one feels, and damn the consequences?” Gimli whispered conspiratorially, inching close to Legolas for an answer. Legolas’ eyes were going strangely half-lidded, like he was mesmerized by something.

“Damn the consequences,” Legolas affirmed.

“Then I’ll tell her right now!” Gimli shouted, releasing Legolas and throwing his arms out wide.

“Wait, her? Who are you talking about?”

“Clara, of course.”

“ _Clara?_ ” Legolas spat out, standing to his feet.

“Of course Clara,” Gimli huffed. “I am in love with Clara Tolden! I don’t think I should wait a second longer—I’m off to tell her how I feel!”

Legolas, however, blocked him. A new severity was in his eyes, and his friend’s sudden harshness was only soothed by the thought of his sweet Clara. Oh how she made everything beautiful and bright in this dark world.

“You drank from my goblet,” Legolas said. Why was his friend blabbing such nonsense about something as trivial as who drank out of whose goblet?

“I’ll buy you another round, soon as I find Clara and confess how I feel!”

Legolas held him back again, and, annoyingly, he pulled at Gimli’s eyelids, peering into the whites of his eyes.

“Tell me, what did the drink smell like?”

“Smell like? Why do you want to know that? All I can smell is the perfume of her hair, all I can feel is her hand in mine, all I can hear is the music of her voice, all I can _sense_ is her, and I need to tell her so before someone takes her away from me!”

Legolas gripped Gimli’s arm, and that was annoying because it was stopping him from going to Clara.

“Indulge me for a second. What did the drink smell of?”

If it would get the pillock moving, he’d list every drink he’d had in the past _year_. He tried to think through the heavy fog of love in his mind, and finally recalled something.

“It smelled quite good, actually. Mostly like peppermint with hints of firewood and smelted metal. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m taking my leave.”

Legolas moved to block him, but Gimli was ready for it and he ducked under his arm and fled down the steps, a flutter in his heart and a song on his lips. He nearly bowled Fíli and Kíli over, who were coming up the stairs just as swiftly.

“Cousins!” Gimli greeted elatedly. “I’m in love with Clara, isn’t that amazing?”

“Sure is,” Fíli agreed. “She’s gone on to the ship, but she told us that she wanted a few moments to gussy up a bit for you.”

His beloved Clara, getting ready for _him_? Would wonders never cease on this glorious day!

“Oh, I will wait as long as I possibly can until she appears.”

In the time they’d halted to speak, Legolas had caught up with them. He thrust a small vial at Gimli with a clear liquid inside.

“Here _._ Clara wanted you to drink this.”

“Truly?” Gimli asked, taking the vial. All three of them nodded at Gimli, and Fíli punched his shoulder in support. Gimli unstopped the vial and drank it. It had a vaguely foul taste, but it was nothing so long as Clara wanted—

Gimli felt all at once dizzy and grounded to the floor. The elation and happiness were gone and the fog lifted. He was standing in a narrow stairwell with his cousins and Legolas staring anxiously at him, patently _not_ in love with Clara Tolden and feeling more embarrassed by the minute.

“Sweet Merlin, no one else saw me act like a besotted fool, did they?” he asked. Thankfully they all shook their heads. Legolas wasn’t looking at Gimli, which was well and good since Gimli had embarrassed himself the most with him. Legolas was instead looking suspiciously at his cousins.

“How did you know what happened to Gimli?” Legolas asked them.

“Well, you see,” Fíli began.

“We saw him drink from your cup,” Kíli said. “We had to stop him from making a fool of himself.”

It was Gimli’s turn to be suspicious. “How did you know the cup was spiked with love potion? If you saw Clara do it, you should have told us right away.”

The two went very quiet and had very familiar twin looks of guilt. Gimli narrowed his eyes and kept on glaring at them until they coughed up the truth.

“Fred and George are testing love potions today, and we wanted to see if it could work on Legolas even with the antidote he takes, and it _didn't_ because he drank from it all through dinner just fine.”

Gimli turned his annoyance on Legolas. “And you didn’t think to just tell me I’d drank love potion?”

“I didn’t know at first,” Legolas defended. “You can’t smell or taste love potion if you’ve taken the antidote. I assure you it’d smell like plain old pumpkin juice to you now.”

Gimli softened. His cousins’ reckless stupidity was making him distrust everyone, it seemed. Legolas had done the sensible thing and kept him from confessing his undying love to Clara, who would have never let him forget it. He returned his anger to his cousins, who barely had the sense to look ashamed of themselves.

“My friends are not your flobberworms,” Gimli ground out between his teeth. “Next time you want to experiment on someone, do it on yourself and go fall in love with a troll.”

Gimli shouldered past his cousins and Legolas moved to follow.

“Gimli,” Kíli called out quickly, something occurring to him. “You won’t tell Tauriel about this will you?”

Of all the…with secret delight, he turned back to Kíli and calmly regarded him.

“Of course I won’t, Kíli,” and he let Kíli relax for a beat until he followed up with, “I’m sure you’ll want to tell her yourself, since it’s unwise to selfishly keep secrets from someone you care about. Surely you wouldn’t keep this from her, being that Legolas is her best friend and you betrayed her trust. I wouldn’t dream of telling her about it.”

A stricken look passed over Kíli’s face, but Gimli didn’t let himself feel sympathy for him and instead continued walking away.

The sun was almost set in the distance. He and Legolas walked in silence, lost in their own troubled thoughts. He didn’t quite know what Legolas had to be embarrassed about, since it was Gimli who’d made a fool of himself, but he didn’t argue the point when it was buying him time to collect his thoughts. They reached the point where they always parted to return to their respective rooms.

“Forest tomorrow?” Gimli suggested, deciding then and there that he’d had enough talk of feelings for today. Legolas gave him a small but genuine smile and nodded. As he left, Gimli sighed and gazed forlornly at the ship, wondering how he was going to look Clara in the eye without blushing furiously.


End file.
